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 CONTENTS. 
 
 LADY LUCY'S SECRET .... 1 
 
 GERALTMNE A LIFE .... 17 
 THE SHAWL BUYEK . . . .68 
 
 THE BLACK SHEEP OF THE FAMILY x . . 84 
 
 HAUNTED HOUSES ..... 124 
 
 THE HARTSDALE VINDICATOR . . . 132 
 
 THE TEMPTERS AND THE TEMPTED . . . 153 
 
 A TALE THAT WAS TOLD TO ME . . 169 
 
 THE STORY OF A PICTURE .... 188 
 
 WORKING GENTLEWOMEN . . . 203 
 
 MRS. SMITH AXD MRS. BROWN . . . 213 
 
 THE MERCHANT'S CLERK . . . 223 
 
 OUR NEW SHOPS ..... 249 
 
 A STORY OF WAYS AND MEANS . . 267 
 
 OUR PHILOSOPHER'S DREAM . 282 
 
 THE NEGLECTED CHILD . 296
 
 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 LADY LUCY'S SECRET. 
 
 ' With clamorous demands of debt, broken bonds, 
 And the detention of long-since-due debts, 
 Against my honor.' TIMON OP ATHENS. 
 
 ' How in the turmoil of life can love stand, 
 Where there is not one heart, and one mouth, and one hand ?' 
 
 LONGFELLOW. 
 
 IN a charming morning-room of a charming London 
 house, neighboring Hyde-Park, there lounged over the 
 break fast- table a wedded pair, the rich merchant 
 Ferrars, and his young wife, the Lady Lucy. Five 
 years of married life had, in most respects, more than 
 realized the brightest hopes which had been born and 
 cherished in the dreaming days of courtship. Till the 
 age of forty, the active mind of Walter Ferrars had 
 been chiefly occupied by business, not in mean, 
 shuffling, speculative dealings, but on the broad basis 
 of large transactions and an almost chivalrous system 
 of integrity. 
 
 Then, when a secured position and the privileges 
 of wealth had introduced him to that inner circle of 
 English society which not wealth alone can penetrate, 
 1
 
 2 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 but where wealth in some due proportion is an element 
 necessary to hold fast a place, it was thought most 
 natural and proper that he should choose a wife from 
 the class which seems set apart from the rest of 
 womankind like the choice flowers of a conservatory, 
 on whom no rude breath must blow. The youthful, 
 but nearly portionless, daughter of a poor Earl seemed 
 the very bride decreed by some good angel for the 
 merchant-prince. 
 
 But though the nuptials fulfilled nearly all the re- 
 quirements of a mariage de convenance, there was in 
 reality very much more of the ingredients in their 
 hearts which amalgamate into very genuine ' love,' 
 than always meet at the altar ; though of course ' the 
 World ' resolutely refused to believe anything of the 
 sort the World, which is capable of so much kind- 
 ness, and goodness, and justice, among its individuals, 
 taken ' separately and singly,' and yet is such a false, 
 malignant, many-headed monster in its corporate body ! 
 Walter Ferrars had a warm heart, that yearned for 
 affection, as well as a clear head ; and, fascinated as 
 he had been by the youthful grace and beauty, the 
 high-bred repose of manner, and cultivated talents of 
 the Lady Lucy, he set himself resolutely to win and 
 keep her girlish heart, not expecting that the man of 
 forty was to obtain it without an effort. Thus, when 
 he assumed a husband's name, he did not ' drop the 
 lover.' His was still the watchful care, made up of 
 the thousand little thoughtful kindnesses of daily-life, 
 neither relaxed in a tete-a-tete, nor increased in public. 
 He was the pleased and ready escort for every occa- 
 sion, save only when some imperative business claimed
 
 LADY LUCY'S SECRET. 3 
 
 his time and presence ; and these calls now were rare, 
 for he had long since arrived at the position when 
 efficient servants and assistants carry out the plans a 
 superior has organized. 
 
 Is there wonder that the wife was grateful ? Few 
 few women indeed are insensible to the power of con- 
 tinued kindness ; they may have a heart of stone for 
 the impetuous impulsive lover, but habitual tenderness 
 that seems so unselfish touches the finest chords 
 of their nature, and awakens affection that might have 
 lain dormant through a long life, but for this one sweet 
 influence. Thus it was that the wife of five years 
 loved her husband with an almost adoring worship. 
 She had felt her own mind expand in the intimate 
 communion with his fine intellect ; she had felt her 
 own weaknesses grow less, as if she had absorbed 
 some of his strength of character; and she had re- 
 cognised the very dawn of principles and opinions 
 which had been unknown to her in the days of her 
 thoughtless, ignorant, inexperienced girlhood. And 
 yet with all her love, with all her matured intelligence, 
 she had never lost a certain awe of her husband, which 
 his seniority had perhaps first implanted, and alas! one 
 fatal circumstance had gone far to render morbid. 
 
 They sat at breakfast. It was early spring, and 
 though the sunshine streamed through the windows, 
 and from one of them there crept the odors of the con- 
 servatory, a bright fire gleamed and crackled in the 
 grate, and shed a charm of cheerfulness through the 
 room. Mr. Ferrars had a newspaper in his hand, but 
 not yet had he perused a line, for his son and heir, a 
 brave boy of three years old, a very model of patrician
 
 4 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 beauty, was climbing his large chair, playing antics of 
 many sorts, and even affecting to pull his father's still 
 rich and curling hair, so little awe had the young 
 Walter of the head of the house while Mr. Ferrars' 
 parental glee was like a deep bass to the child's crow- 
 ing laugh. Lady Lucy smiled too, but she shook her 
 head, and said more than once, ' Naughty papa is 
 spoiling Watty.' It was a pretty scene ; the room was 
 redolent of elegance, and the young mother, in her 
 exquisitely simple but tasteful morning dress, was 
 one of its chief ornaments. Who would think that 
 beneath all this sweetness of life there was still a 
 serpent ! 
 
 A post was just in, and a servant entered with 
 several letters; among those delivered to Lady Lucy 
 were two or three large unsightly, ill-shaped epistles, 
 that seemed strange company for the others. An ob- 
 serving stranger might have noticed that Lady Lucy's 
 cheek paled, and then flushed ; that she crushed up 
 her letters together, without immediately opening 
 them, and that presently she slid the ugly ones into 
 the pocket of her satin apron. Mr. Ferrars read his 
 almost with a glance for they were masculine let- 
 ters, laconic, and to the point, conveying necessary 
 information, in three lines and a half and he smiled, 
 as after a while he observed his wife apparently intent 
 on a truly feminine epistle four sides of delicate 
 paper closely crossed and exclaimed gaily, 
 
 ' My dear Lucy, there's an hour's reading for you, 
 at least ; so I shall ring and send Watty to the nursery, 
 and settle steadily to the Times." 1 
 
 But though Lady Lucy really perused the letter,
 
 LADY LUCY'S SECRET. 5 
 
 her mind refused to retain the pleasant chit-chat gossip 
 it contained. Her thoughts were far away, and had 
 she narrowly examined her motives, she would have 
 known that she bent over the friendly sheet chiefly as 
 an excuse for silence, and to conceal her passing 
 emotions. Meanwhile the newspaper gently crackled 
 in her husband's hand as he moved its broad leaves. 
 
 Presently Mr. Ferrars started with an exclamation 
 of grief and astonishment that completely roused his 
 absent wife. 
 
 ' My dear Walter, what has happened ? ' she asked, 
 with real anxiety. 
 
 ' A man a bankrupt, whom I thought as safe as the 
 Bank of England. Though it is true, people talked 
 about him months ago spoke suspiciously of his per- 
 sonal extravagance, and, above all, said that his wife 
 was ruining him.' 
 
 ' His wife ! ' 
 
 ' Yes ; but I cannot understand that sort of thing. 
 A few hundreds a year more or less could be of little 
 moment to a man like Beaufort, and I don't suppose 
 she spent more than you do, my darling. At any rate, 
 she was never better dressed. Yet I believe the truth 
 was, that she got frightfully into debt unknown to him ; 
 and debt is a sort of thing that multiplies itself in a 
 most astonishing manner, and sows by the wayside the 
 seeds of all sorts of misery. Then people say that 
 when pay-day came at last, bickerings ensued, their 
 domestic happiness was broken up, Beaufort grew 
 reckless, and plunged into the excitement of the mad- 
 dest speculations.' 
 
 ' How dreadful ! ' murmured Lady Lucy.*
 
 6 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 4 Dreadful, indeed ! I don't know what I should do 
 with such a wife.' 
 
 * Would not you forgive her if you loved her very 
 much ? ' asked Lady Lucy, and she spoke in the sin- 
 gularly calm tone of suppressed emotion. 
 
 ' Once, perhaps, once ; and if her fault were the 
 fault of youthful inexperience, but so much false- 
 ness, mean deception, and mental deterioration must 
 have accompanied such transactions, that in short, I 
 thank Heaven that I have never been put to the trial.' 
 
 As he spoke, the eyes of Mr. Ferrars were fixed on 
 the leading article of the Times, not on his wife. 
 Presently Lady Lucy glided from the room, without 
 her absence being at the moment observed. Once in 
 her dressing-room, she turned the key, and sinking 
 into a low chair, gave vent to her grief in some of the 
 bitterest tears she had ever shed. She, too, was in 
 debt ; * frightfully,' her husband had used the right 
 word ; ' hopelessly,' so far as satisfying her creditors, 
 even out of the large allowance Mr. Ferrars made her ; 
 and still she had not the courage voluntarily to tell 
 the truth, which yet she knew must burst upon him ere 
 long. From what small beginnings had this Upas 
 shadow come upon her ! And what ' falseness, mean 
 deception, and mental deterioration ' had truly been 
 hers! 
 
 Even the fancied relief of weeping was a luxury 
 denied to her, for she feared to show the evidence of 
 tears ; thus after a little while she strove to drive 
 them back, and by bathing her face before the glass, 
 and drawing the braids of her soft hair a little nearer 
 her eyes, she was tolerably successful in hiding their
 
 LADY LUCY'S SECRET. 7 
 
 trace. Never, when dressing for court or gala, had 
 she consulted her mirror so closely ; and now, though 
 the tears were dried, she was shocked at the lines of 
 anguish those delvers of the wrinkles of age which 
 marked her countenance. She sat before her looking- 
 glass, one hand supporting her head, the othe rclutch- 
 ing the hidden letters which she had not yet the courage 
 to open. There was a light tap at the door. 
 
 ' Who is there ? ' inquired Lady Lucy. 
 
 4 It is I, my lady,' replied Harris, her faithful maid. 
 1 Madame Dalmas is here.' 
 
 Lady Lucy unlocked her door, and gave orders that 
 the visitor should be shown up. With the name had 
 come a flush of hope that some trifling temporary help 
 would be hers. Madame Dalmas called herself a 
 Frenchwoman, and signed herself ' Antoinette,' but 
 she was really an English Jewess of low extraction, 
 whose true name was Sarah Solomons. Her ' pro- 
 fession ' was to purchase and sell the cast-off* 
 apparel of ladies of fashion ; and few of the sisterhood 
 have carried the art of double cheating to so great a 
 proficiency. With always a roll of bank notes in her 
 old leathern pocket-book, and always a dirty canvas 
 bag full of bright sovereigns in her pocket, she had 
 ever the subtle temptation for her victims ready. 
 
 Madame Dalmas for she must be called according 
 to the name engraved on her card was a little 
 meanly-dressed woman of about forty, with bright eyes 
 and a hooked nose, a restless shuffling manner, and an 
 ill-pitched voice. Her jargon was a mixture of bad 
 French and worse English. 
 
 ' Bon jour miladi Lucy, ' she exclaimed as she
 
 8 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 entered Lady Lucy's sanctum, ' need not inquire of 
 health, you look si charmante. Oh, si belle ! that 
 make you wear old clothes so longer dan oder ladies, 
 and have so leetel for me to buy. Milady Lucy 
 Ferrars know she look well in anyting, but yet she 
 should not wear old clothes : no right for example 
 for de trade, and de hoosband always like de wife 
 well dressed ha ha ! ' 
 
 Poor Lady Lucy ! Too sick at heart to have any 
 relish for Madame Dalmas' nauseous compliments, 
 and more than half aware of her cheats and false- 
 hoods, she yet tolerated the creature from her own dire 
 necessities. 
 
 ' Sit down, Madame Dalmas,' she said, ' I am 
 dreadfully in want of money ; but I really don't know 
 what I have for you.' 
 
 4 De green velvet, which you not let me have before 
 Easter, 1 still give you four pounds for it, though 
 perhaps you worn it very much since then.' 
 
 ' Only twice only seven times in all and it cost 
 me twenty guineas,' sighed Lady Lucy. 
 
 ' Ah, but so old-fashioned I do believe I not see 
 my money for it. Voyez-vous, de Lady Lucy is one 
 petite lady si jolie mais tres petite. If she were de 
 tall grand lady, you see de great dresses could fit small 
 lady, but de leetle dresses fit but ver few.' 
 
 ' If I sell the green velvet I must have another next 
 winter,' murmured Lady Lucy. 
 
 ' Ah ! vous avez raison when de season nou- 
 veautes come in. I tell you what you let me have 
 also de white lace robe you show me once, the same 
 time I bought from you one little old pearl brooch.'
 
 LADY LTTCY'S SECRET. 9 
 
 ' My wedding-dress ? Oh no, I cannot sell ray wed- 
 ding-dress ! ' exclaimed poor Lady Lucy, pressing her 
 hands convulsively together. 
 
 ' What for not ? you not want to marry over again 
 I give you twenty-two pounds for it.' 
 
 * Twenty -two pounds! why, it is Brussels point, 
 and cost a hundred and twenty.' 
 
 ' Ah, I know but you forget I perhaps keep it ten 
 years and not sell and besides you buy dear ; great 
 lady often buy ver dear ! ' and Madame Dalmas shook 
 her head with the solemnity of a sage. 
 
 'No, no; I cannot sell my wedding-dress,' again 
 murmured the wife. And be it recorded the temptress, 
 for once, was baffled ; but, at the expiration of an hour, 
 Madame Dalmas left the house, with a huge bundle 
 under her arm, and a quiet satisfaction revealed in her 
 countenance, had any one thought it worth while to 
 study the expression of her disagreeable face. 
 
 Again Lady Lucy locked her door, and placing a 
 bank note and some sovereigns on the table, she sank 
 into a low chair, and while a few large silent tears 
 flowed down her cheeks, she at last found courage to 
 open the three letters which had hitherto remained, un- 
 read, in her apron pocket. The first, the second 
 seemed to contain nothing to surprise her, however 
 much there might be to annoy ; but it was different 
 with the last ; here was a gross overcharge, and per- 
 haps it was not with quite a disagreeable feeling that 
 Lady Lucy found something of which she could justly 
 complain. She rose hurriedly and unlocked a small 
 writing-desk, which had long been used as a receptacle 
 for old letters and accounts.
 
 10 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 To tell the truth, the interior of the desk did not pre- 
 sent a very orderly arrangement. Cards of address, 
 bills paid and unpaid, copies of verses, and papers of 
 many descriptions, were huddled together, and it was 
 not by any means surprising that Lady Lucy failed in 
 her search for the original account by which to rectify 
 the error in her shoemaker's bill. In the hurry and 
 nervous trepidation which had latterly become almost 
 a constitutional ailment with her, she turned out the 
 contents of the writing-desk into an easy chair, and 
 then kneeling before it, she set herself to the task of 
 carefully examining the papers. Soon she came to 
 one letter which had been little expected in that place, 
 and which still bore the marks of a rose, whose withered 
 leaves also remained, that had been put away in its 
 folds. The rose Walter Ferrars had given her on the 
 eve of their marriage, and the letter was in his hand- 
 writing, and bore but a few days earlier date. With 
 quickened pulses she opened the envelope, and though 
 a mist rose before her eyes, it seemed to form into a 
 mirror in which she saw the by-gone hours. And so 
 she read and read. 
 
 It is the fashion to laugh at love-letters, perhaps be- 
 cause only the silly ones ever come to light. With the 
 noblest of both sexes such effusions are sacred, and 
 would be profaned by the perusal of a third person ; but 
 when a warm and true heart is joined to a manly intel- 
 lect; when reason sanctions and constancy maintains 
 the choice which has been made, there is little doubt 
 that much of simple, truthful, touching eloquence is 
 often to be found in a ' lover's ' letter. That which the 
 wife now perused with strange and mingled feelings
 
 LADY LUCY'S SECRET. 11 
 
 was evidently a reply to some girlish depreciation of 
 herself, and contained these words : 
 
 ' You tell me that in the scanty years of your past 
 life, you already look back on a hundred follies, and 
 that you have unnumbered faults of character at which 
 I do not even guess. Making some allowance for a 
 figurative expression, I will answer " it may be so." 
 What then ? I have never called you an angel, and 
 never desired you to be perfect. The weaknesses 
 which cling, tendril-like, to a fine nature, not unfre- 
 quently bind us to it by ties we do not seek to sever. I 
 know you for a true-hearted girl, but with the bitter 
 lessons of life still unlearned ; let it be my part to 
 shield you from their sad knowledge, yet whatever 
 sorrow or evil falls upon you, I must or ought to share. 
 Let us have no secrets; and while the Truth which 
 gives its purest lustre to your eye, and its richest rose 
 to your cheek, still reigns in your soul, I cannot dream 
 of a fault grave enough to deserve harsher rebuke than 
 the kiss of forgiveness.' 
 
 What lines to read at such a moment ! No wonder 
 their meaning reached her mind far differently than it 
 had done when they were first received. Then she 
 could have little heeded it ; witness how carelessly the 
 letter had been put away how forgotten had been its 
 contents. 
 
 Her tears flowed in torrents, but Lucy Ferrars no 
 longer strove to check them. And yet there gleamed 
 through them a brighter smile than had visited her 
 countenance for many a month. A resolve approved 
 by all her better nature was growing firm within her 
 heart; and that which an hour before would have
 
 12 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 seemed too dreadful to contemplate was losing half its 
 terrors. How often an ascent, which looks in the dis- 
 tance a bare precipice, shows us, when we approach its 
 face, the notches by which we may climb ! and not 
 a few of the difficulties of life yield to our will when we 
 bravely encounter them. 
 
 ' Why did I fear him so much ? ' murmured Lady 
 Lucy to herself. * I ought not to have needed such an 
 assurance as this to throw myself at his feet, and bear 
 even scorn and rebuke, rather than prolong the reign of 
 falsehood and deceit. Yes yes,' and gathering a 
 heap of papers in her hand with the 'love-letter' be- 
 neath them, she descended the stairs. 
 
 There is no denying that Lady Lucy paused at the 
 library door no denying that her heart beat quickly, 
 and her breath seemed well-nigh spent ; but she was 
 right to act on the good impulse, and not wait until the 
 new-born courage should sink. 
 
 Mr. Ferrars had finished the newspaper, and was 
 writing an important note ; his back was to the door, 
 and hearing the rustle of his wife's dress, and knowing 
 her step, he did not turn his head sufficiently to observe 
 her countenance, but he said, good-humoredly, 
 
 ' At last ! What have you been about ? I thought we 
 were to go out before luncheon to look at the bracelet 
 I mentioned to you.' 
 
 ' No, Walter no bracelet you must never give 
 me any jewels again ; ' and as Lady Lucy spoke, she 
 leaned against a chair for support. At such words her 
 husband turned quickly round, started up, and ex- 
 claimed, 
 
 ' Lucy, my love ! in tears what has happened ? '
 
 LADY LUCY'S SECRET. 13 
 
 and, finding that even when he wound his arm round 
 her she still was mute, he continued, 'Speak this 
 silence breaks my heart what have I done to lose 
 your confidence ? ' 
 
 ' Not you I ' gasped the wife. * Your words at 
 breakfast this letter have rolled the stone from my 
 heart I must confess the truth I am like Mrs. 
 Beaufort in debt frightfully in debt.' And with a 
 gesture, as if she would crush herself into the earth, she 
 slipped from his arms and sank literally on the floor. 
 
 Whatever pang Mr. Ferrars felt at the knowledge of 
 her fault, it seemed overpowered by the sense of her 
 present anguish an anguish that proved how bitter 
 had been the expiation; and he lifted his wife to a 
 sofa, bent over her with fondness, called her by all the 
 dear pet names to which her ear was accustomed, and 
 nearer twenty times than once gave her the ' kiss of 
 forgiveness.' 
 
 * And it is of you I have been frightened ! ' cried 
 Lady Lucy, clinging to his hand. ' You who I thought 
 would never make any excuses for faults you yourself 
 could not have committed ! ' 
 
 ' I have never been tempted.' 
 ' Have I ? I dare not say so.' 
 
 ' Tell me how it all came about,' said Mr. Ferrars, 
 drawing her to him, ' tell me from the beginning.' 
 But his gentleness unnerved her she felt choking 
 
 loosened the collar of her dress for breathing space 
 
 and gave him the knowledge he asked in broken 
 exclamations. 
 
 * Before I was married it began. They per- 
 suaded me so many oh, so many unnecessary
 
 14 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 things were needed. Then they would not send 
 the bills and I for a long time never knew 
 what I owed and then and then I thought I 
 should have the power but ' 
 
 ' Your allowance was not sufficient ? ' asked Mr. 
 Ferrars, pressing her hand as he spoke. 
 
 ' Oh, yes, yes, yes ! most generous, and yet it was 
 always forestalled to pay old bills ; and then and 
 then my wants were so many. I was so weak. 
 Madame Dalmas has had dresses I could have worn 
 when I had new ones on credit instead, and and 
 Harris has had double wages to compensate for what 
 a lady's maid thinks her perquisites ; even articles I 
 might have given to poor gentlewomen I have been 
 mean enough to sell. Oh, Walter ! I have been very 
 wrong ; but I have been miserable for at least three 
 years. 1 have felt as if an iron cage were rising round 
 me from which you only could free me and yet, 
 till to-day, I think I could have died rather than confess 
 to you.' 
 
 ' My poor girl ! Why should you have feared me ? 
 Have I ever been harsh ? ' 
 
 ' Oh, no ! no but you are so just so strict in 
 all these things ' 
 
 1 1 hope I am ; and yet not the less do I understand 
 how all this has come about. Now, Lucy, now that 
 you have ceased to fear me tell me the amount.' 
 
 She strove to speak, but could not. 
 
 ' Three figures or four ? tell me.' 
 
 'I am afraid yes, I am afraid four,' murmured 
 Lady Lucy, and hiding her face from his view ; ' yes, 
 four figures, and my quarter received last week gone, 
 every penny.'
 
 LADY LUCY'S SECRET. 15 
 
 ' Lucy, every bill shall be paid this day ; but you 
 must reward me by being happy.' 
 
 4 Generous ! dearest ! But, Walter, if you had been 
 a poor man, what then ? ' 
 
 4 Ah, Lucy, that would have been a very different 
 and an infinitely sadder story. Instead of the relin- 
 quishment of some indulgence hardly to be missed, 
 there might have been ruin, and poverty, and disgrace. 
 You have one excuse, at least you knew that I could 
 pay at last.' 
 
 ' Ah, but at what a price ! The price of your love 
 and confidence.' 
 
 ' No, Lucy, for your confession has been volun- 
 tary ; and I will not ask myself what I should have 
 felt if the knowledge come from another. After all, 
 you have fallen to a temptation which besets the wives 
 of the rich far more than those of poor or struggling 
 gentlemen. Tradespeople are shrewd enough in one 
 respect they do not press their commodities and 
 long credifin quarters where ultimate payment seems 
 doubtful though ' 
 
 ' They care not what domestic misery they create 
 among the rich,' interrupted Lady Lucy, bitterly. 
 
 ' Stay : there are faults on both sides, not the least 
 of them being that girls in your station are too rarely 
 taught the value of money, or that integrity in money 
 matters should be to them a point of honor second 
 only to one other. Now listen, my darling, before 
 we dismiss this painful subject for ever. You have 
 the greatest confidence in your maid, and entre nous 
 she must be a good deal in the secret. We shall 
 bribe her to discretion, however, by dismissing Madame
 
 16 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 Dalmas at once and for ever. As soon as you can 
 spare Harris, I will send her to change a cheque at 
 Coutts', and then, for expedition and security, she shall 
 take on the brougham and make a round to these 
 tradespeople. Meanwhi^, I will drive you in the 
 phaeton to look at the bracelet.' 
 
 ' Oh, no no, dear Walter, not the bracelet.' 
 
 'Yes yes I say yes. Though not a quarrel, 
 this is a sorrow which has come between us, and there 
 must be a peace-offering. Besides I would not have 
 you think that you had reached the limits of my will, 
 and of my means to gratify you.' 
 
 'To think that I could have doubted that I could 
 have feared you ! ' sobbed Lady Lucy, as tears of joy 
 coursed down her cheeks. ' But, Walter, it is not 
 every husband who would have shown such gen- 
 erosity.' 
 
 ' I think there are few husbands, Lucy, who do not 
 estimate truth and candor as among the chief of con- 
 jugal virtues : ah, had you confided in* me when 
 first you felt the bondage of debt, how much anguish 
 would have been spared you ! '
 
 
 
 GERALDINE-A LIFE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 1 While youth's keen light is in thine eye, 
 While each new hour goes dancing by, 
 While girlish visions are not gone, 
 And sorrow is almost unknown ' s. R. 
 
 GERALDINE HARMER was an only child, and had been 
 petted, caressed, beloved indulged, if you will, and 
 what the world calls ' spoiled,' from infancy. But 
 there is a wiser and better creed than that of the world 
 in general ; and it is, that no human being can be 
 spoiled by the government of kindness and affection, be 
 they ever so lavish and warm. One thing, however, it 
 does ; just as sunshine develops the color of flowers and 
 leaves which would have been pale and sickly in the 
 shade, it draws out the deep hues and lines of charac- 
 ter ; and it may be that the selfishness of the selfish 
 becomes more apparent when such a nature is the re- 
 cipient of life's choicest blessings. But who can think 
 of the myriad hearts in which the noblest qualities, the 
 purest aspirations, and even the most world-enriching 
 talents lie buried like seeds in an Egyptian tomb, for 
 want of the light and heat the affections alone can 
 bestow, and yet grieve for their rays shining eren 
 though they chance to fall sometimes on unworthy 
 objects ! 
 
 2
 
 18 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 Beautiful as was Geraldine's developed character, I 
 believe her to have been only an average type of her 
 sex, if its early influences were more commonly as fa- 
 vorable. With all the softness and tenderness which 
 belong of right to a woman, she possessed that moral 
 bravery which is sure to be extinguished by a discipline 
 of fear, and which for this reason is one of the rarest 
 attributes of character. For my own part, I never 
 hear a harsh word spoken to a child without trembling 
 for the consequences, without dreading that the bloom 
 of perfect and proud integrity may at that moment be 
 brushed away, and the first thoughts of deceit be 
 fanned into being. 
 
 Geraldine was about seventeen when she lost her 
 mother ; and henceforth home-love seemed centred in 
 her remaining parent. Friends may be very dear, ac- 
 quaintances pleasant and instructive companions ; but 
 it is round our very hearth, under the roof where we 
 rest, and in the daily, hourly intercourse of life, that 
 the heart must either be satisfied or not ; and human 
 happiness, or a blank where it should be, exist. Blessed 
 Geraldine ! still, still for her was home affection. Even 
 grief for the dead, deep, intense as it was, had a gleam 
 of light about it that was not borrowed from sorrow ; 
 like the dark clouds that we often see tinged with a 
 golden sunshine. Every memory of her mother was 
 sweet and sacred ; of peace and of gladness. It was 
 at this period that Mr. Harmer changed his residence 
 from an inland town to the coast of Devon. Perhaps 
 local associations have more influence upon us than we 
 are always ready to admit. Geraldine's childhood had 
 been passed amid the soft rich scenery of the heart of
 
 GERALDINE A LIFE. 19 
 
 England, where meadows show their brightest, deepest 
 green, and the affluent earth is most lavish of its treas- 
 ures ; where blooming orchards look like the flower 
 gardens of some gigantic world, and the ripening corn 
 sways heavily in the breeze, drooping beneath the 
 weight of its growing wealth ; where the sunny hills 
 and the fertile valleys and the gentle streams look up 
 to a changeful sky to them most benignant with 
 a fond and grateful smile ! The scene had surely 
 been in unison with her own happy, joyous, careless 
 childhood. 
 
 Life is broken up into the epochs that emotions 
 make, far more vividly than by the lines of outward 
 actions or events ; though often enough they mould, or 
 melt into, one another. The death of her mother was 
 Geraldine's first sorrow, speedily followed by the 
 change to a sea-side residence; and this the per- 
 petual presence of the wide horizon, the changeful, 
 restless, slumbering, treacherous ocean, was beauti- 
 fully appropriate to the new life which was dawning 
 upon her. That one sorrow had opened the dark door 
 through which so much knowledge steals into the 
 heart; that knowledge taught by suffering, which is 
 the balance in the scale, and forbids even hope to soar 
 too high. Yet she was at the age when, despite all 
 the world can do, life will ever wear a new and bright 
 aspect, if not the brightest Fate has in store. And as 
 Geraldine sat on the sea-shore, watching the glancing 
 waves that broke at her feet, her musings took that 
 tinge of poetry of which few natures are quite incapa- 
 ble. Sometimes it seemed as if each wave had a story 
 it refused to tell a tale from the distant climes,
 
 20 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 whence it had toiled on some strange mysterious mis- 
 sion ; or as she marked the gently rising tide, obedient 
 to the mistress of the waters, who beckoned from her 
 starry court, her soul seemed lifted by that worship of 
 nature, most reverent as it was, till she saw or created 
 a thousand vague yet beautiful types. 
 
 It must not be supposed, however, that Geraldine 
 Harmer's life was that of a recluse, or that she grew to 
 be a mere visionary ; far otherwise ; for the next six 
 or seven years she mixed a good deal in society, and 
 paid at least one visit in the year to the metropolis. 
 Observation confirmed or contradicted the theories of 
 her young mind ; and in her father's constant society 
 and confiding affection she had that support, the ab- 
 sence of which is, I believe, the most fatal deprivation 
 a young woman can know the support of a stronger 
 mind, and more enlarged intellect than her own ; that 
 something which she recognises most speedily, and 
 bows to most implicitly, in father, brother, or husband. 
 The metaphor of the oak and the ivy, as applied to the 
 two natures, is beautiful, because it contains so much 
 truth ; and woman's fine qualities are only half devel- 
 oped while tottering as it were by herself. There is 
 but one condition more pitiable, and that is when she 
 twines herself round some rotten reed, corrupts her 
 own soul by the contact, and sinks into the very mire 
 at last. But the girl who nestles by the side of a wise 
 yet gentle father, or who has the proud privilege of a 
 noble brother's tender friendship, is sheltered from a 
 thousand dangers and temptations. She will be the 
 last to ' lose ' her heart unworthily, though she may 
 bestow it entirely and wisely.
 
 GERALDINE A LIFE. . 21 
 
 Not driven therefore to any fatal choice by the want 
 of an object to venerate and rely on so large an 
 element in the besoin d' aimer there is not much 
 wonder that at three-and-twenty Geraldine's heart was 
 still free. It might have been open to those passing 
 thoughts and inclinations, which are but as the summer 
 lightning that indicates the pathway of the storm ; for 
 youth will have its dreams, and the heart its own 
 promptings. But her peace had never been broken ; 
 her soul was yet ignorant of its deepest mysteries. 
 
 It was at this time that the accidents of society threw 
 her a good deal with Lionel Weymouth ; acquaintance 
 ripened into intimacy both with father and daughter ; 
 and intimacy into a friendship founded on mutual ap- 
 preciation and esteem. Weymouth was two or three 
 years older than Geraldine, and, until a recent period, 
 had expected to inherit a fine landed property in the 
 north of England. Without exactly pledging himself to 
 celibacy, Sir George Weymouth had educated the orphan 
 children of his younger brother under his own roof; 
 and, to say the least, had permitted the world to look 
 upon Lionel as his acknowledged heir. He, however, 
 was not insensible to the precarious tenure of his for- 
 tunes, and from boyhood had desired to establish him- 
 self in a profession. Sir George proposed a military 
 career, one which almost always presents some points 
 of fascination to a youth of nineteen ; and Lionel, 
 whose mind had no very early development, was more 
 than content with the choice. A commission was pur- 
 chased in one of those regiments whose officers are 
 chiefly supplied from the ranks of the aristocracy ; 
 and family pride, together with a true regard for his
 
 22 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 nephew, induced Sir George to make him a yearly 
 allowance fully suitable to the maintenance of the posi- 
 tion in which he had placed him. Meanwhile the two 
 .sisters remained under his almost parental protection ; 
 and Laura at eighteen took the head of her uncle's 
 table. 
 
 The doctrine of ' Destiny ' is charmingly satisfactory 
 when some perfectly unexpected disaster, of which we 
 have been the blind instruments, takes place. The 
 feelings of Laura and Marian Weymouth were entirely 
 a case in point, when, suddenly, without more prepar- 
 ation than a day or two's vague suspicion, they discov- 
 ered that their sedate, grey-headed uncle, of fifty-five, 
 was actually in love with, and had proposed to marry, 
 their school companion, their beautiful friend, Emily 
 Dalton ! For this result had she been their guest for 
 weeks at a time. Emily belonged to what is called 
 * a good family ; ' but she was one of the many chil- 
 dren of a 'younger son.' Half-a-dozen sisters and 
 three brothers must ultimately divide with her his 
 slender fortune ; but she had been educated in a 
 worldly school, and had always looked on marriage as 
 the stepping-stone to fortune. It had become a by- 
 word i^ her home, though always uttered sotto voce, 
 that love was a luxury reserved for the rich, and ro- 
 mantic reveries an indulgence for the well-endowed. 
 Surely this was precisely the girl to accept, with self- 
 gratulation, the hand of an elderly baronet of large 
 fortune ! Whether by skilful flatteries and evident 
 partiality she had sought it, is another question. 
 
 The marriage was a hasty one ; for there was no 
 reason for delay. Laura and Marian were brides-
 
 GERALDINE A LIFE. 23 
 
 maids; but though not above a hundred miles distant 
 at the time, Lionel was not invited to the wedding. 
 The omission did not arise from any ill or unkind feel- 
 ing on the bridegroom's part ; very far from it. The 
 truth was, the most unpleasant task he had ever im- 
 posed on himself was writing to his nephew the intelli- 
 gence of his intentions ; and Lionel's presence at the 
 wedding breakfast would have been like that of ihe 
 skeleton at a feast. Yet, after all, there was no wrong 
 in his purpose : he had acted for years a father's part 
 to his brother's children ; nor did he now intend to 
 desert them ; he was only taking upon himself those 
 duties which the ' world ' had expected from him thirty 
 years before. 
 
 Lionel saw the event in this its true light ; but he 
 had none the less a just perception of the change it 
 effected in his own prospects. In the depths of his 
 heart he had for some time felt that his vocation should 
 not have been a military one ; though, out of deference 
 to his uncle's feelings, he had been silent on the subject 
 of his discontent. As his character matured, there 
 sprang up restless energies which revolted at the 
 effeminate existence of a carpet soldier ; while at the 
 same time his mind sickened at the associations of 
 active service, and disputed the ' honor ' of being a 
 legalized slaughterer. But now he determined to 
 sell his commission, and woo fortune in some more 
 congenial path. Soon after the marriage he commu- 
 nicated his wishes to his uncle, who, though a little 
 surprised, raised no opposition ; and when Lionel, 
 acknowledging his obligations, yet gave expression to 
 his ardent desire for independence, Sir George easily
 
 24 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 yielded to his proposal for curtailing to the most 
 necessary trifle his hitherto handsome allowance. In 
 truth, wealthy as the baronet was, he had already 
 discovered many new channels which were delving 
 themselves for his money, and as ordinary characters 
 ever do, gave up a thousand generous resolves under 
 the pressure of altered circumstances. 
 
 It was after Lionel Weymouth had left the army, 
 and during the months which preceded his embarkation 
 for India that land of golden promise, where he had 
 formed a connection with a mercantile establishment 
 that he met Geraldine Harmer. The regard which 
 sprung up between them was not of that rapid growth 
 and demonstrative nature which speedily brings about 
 a climax, and not unfrequently dies out as quickly. 
 But silently and gradually it pervaded the heart of 
 each ; implanting fresh hopes therein, and giving its 
 own hue to life. And yet not a word of this love had 
 been spoken between them ; nay, Lionel considered 
 that his attempt to conceal his affection had been in a 
 great measure successful. He had marked out for 
 himself a career, a goal to be reached. Not until his 
 sisters were either married or endowed by him with 
 independence, and not until he had won a fortune to 
 lay at her feet, would he seek Geraldine's love, or sue 
 for her hand. During the long years of his absence 
 she should be free : without blame if she forgot him 
 without remorse if she wedded another. Perhaps, in 
 the long run, this code of honor works well ; for a 
 promise is but a chain that may gall more than it 
 binds ; and the strongest of all ties is the unac- 
 knowledged one that the heart forges for itself. But,
 
 GERALDINE A LIFE. 25 
 
 unfortunately, they whose constancy would shine out 
 most brightly unimpaired by time or absence, are 
 the very ones who suffer most severely from the alter- 
 nating hopes and fears which must accompany an 
 unacknowledged love, and which perplex the reason, 
 and 'make the word * free' but a term of mockery. 
 
 Lionel Weymouth left England with a noble ap- 
 preciation of Geraldine Harmer's worth, and a heart 
 truly and deeply devoted to her. Every purpose and 
 aspiration of his nature led up to one hope the 
 hope of her affection, and perpetual companionship 
 through the meridian and decline of life : for Youth, 
 he foresaw, must be passed in the struggle to win 
 her ; but he left with his love unspoken ! Perhaps his 
 feelings might have betrayed him from his resolution 
 had not their last interview been broken by one of 
 those commonplace accidents which so often jar on 
 the soul's truer world of thought and emotion. The 
 gushing words flew back to the heart unuttered ; and 
 they parted in the presence of others, much as ordinary 
 acquaintances might have done. 
 
 There is, generally speaking, so much in a man's 
 nature that is incomprehensible to a woman, that it is 
 always a daring task for her to weigh his actions, or to 
 attempt the divination of his feelings. His love is 
 seldom her love ; his faith is not her faith ; his life is 
 not her life only in moments of existence which 
 shine out briefly and brightly in the dark expanse of 
 memory, like stars on the purple firmament, does it 
 seem that love and sympathy can raise the curtain and 
 let one soul perceive the other. For if woman knows 
 not man, neither can he, except in rarest instances,
 
 26 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 regulate the spring of her faults, or discover the foun- 
 tain of her virtues. 
 
 Thus it is not for me to tell how passed the years 
 with Lionel Weymouth. Active was his life, ;i d 
 prosperous in no ordinary degree, if the esteem and 
 respect of his fellow-men could make it so, and the 
 gold which seemed by some strange alchemy to mul- 
 tiply itself at his bidding. He corresponded with 
 Geraldine Harmer on terms of affectionate friendship ; 
 but he spoke not of love and marriage at first, because 
 to the integrity of his purpose it still belonged to hold 
 her ' free.' But time passed on, and a few strokes of 
 his pen secured ease and independence to his grateful 
 and affectionate sisters. They married too, soon after- 
 wards, in the sphere which was theirs by birth and 
 education. And still he corresponded with Gera'dine 
 Harmer, though without any change in the tone of his 
 letters ; only that the presents which often accom- 
 panied them grew more and more costly. Instead of 
 graceful trinkets, precious more as souvenirs of his 
 regard than for their intrinsic value, came shawls of 
 Cashmere, meet for royalty itself the costliest tissues 
 from the looms of Decca, and jewels of great value 
 a monument they were, but we ask, as the poet did at 
 the tomb of a wife, was it ' love or pride ?' The ten- 
 derness of deep regard shone forth in every page he 
 wrote ; yet still he did not ask her to be his. Why ? 
 Ah ! that is precisely the question a woman cannot 
 answer. 
 
 Time passed very differently with Geraldine Har- 
 mer. Hers was a life of great retirement ; her 
 father's age and increasing infirmity inducing with
 
 GERALDINE A. LIFE. 27 
 
 each year greater seclusion, while her own inclinations 
 henceforth eschewed, not less decidedly, the vanities 
 and frivolities of the gay world. With the awakening 
 of the heart comes also the awakening to the hol- 
 lowness of what the world calls pleasure ; and she, 
 like a thousand others, content with the secret worship 
 of a beautiful idea, relinquished every likely oppor- 
 tunity of substituting for it some absolute reality. She 
 was almost happy cheerful certainly ; and four 
 years passed away with the seeming swiftness for ever 
 attendant on a calm and uniform course. It is time in 
 which action, and change, and suffering crowd, that in 
 the retrospect appears so long. Geraldine was seven- 
 and-twenty when her father died. It was a great grief 
 to her ; but one of those sorrows which a merciful 
 Providence heals by the touch of time. 
 
 A portion of Mr. Harmer's income died with him, 
 but Geraldine found herself mistress of about four 
 hundred a year. This was an income quite sufficient 
 to supply her moderate wants, and gratify her simple 
 tastes. She remained in the same pretty cottage they 
 had so long inhabited, and by dint of frequently, 
 almost constantly having a female friend for a visitor, 
 contrived the nearest approach to an independent style 
 of living which it is possible for a young single woman 
 to accomplish ; at least without touching the confines 
 of those conventional proprieties, which sometimes 
 bristle very vexatiously in the way of the most pure- 
 intentioned. And still came the letters from India; 
 but less through them than by more indirect channels 
 did she learn that Lionel Weymouth was acquiring a 
 princely fortune, to which her moderate independence 
 would be an unfelt addition.
 
 28 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 And still time passed, and Gerald ine was thirty 
 that age at which the fatherless, brotherless, single 
 woman need pause and ask her own nature if it have 
 enough of the oak in itself still, still to stand alone. 
 Probably she will look back with rejoicing at having 
 escaped some particular union, or more than one ; and 
 certainly, if she have mind and heart, her ideal of 
 happiness will be far higher and nobler than it was ten 
 years before. If but it is with Geraldine we have 
 to do; and she, like so many others, bore the talisman 
 in her heart which shaped out her life as if by the iron 
 hand of Destiny. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 ' It hurts not him 
 That he is loved of me.' 
 
 ALL'S WELL THAT EXDS WELL. 
 
 * I FEAR, Watson, we shall have stormy weather,' 
 said Geraldine, addressing an old fisherman whom she 
 had known ever since her first residence on the coast. 
 Watson was an excellent specimen of the British tar 
 one of the fortunate class who, having escaped the 
 most fearful vicissitudes of active service, disdain the 
 refuge of Greenwich, and rejoicing in the proper com- 
 plement of limbs and features, ekes out an honest and 
 peaceful, and at the same time semi-marine existence, 
 as waterman and fisherman. 
 
 ' Aye, aye, miss,' said Watson, throwing down the 
 cordage he was joining, and touching his hat to the
 
 GERALDINE A LIFE. 29 
 
 lady, and the next minute he had sprung from his boat 
 which lay idle on the beach, and was sauntering with 
 a sailor's swagger beside her. This was no unusual 
 occurrence ; for Watson, as I have said, was an old 
 acquaintance. If he advised a sail, and said the 
 weather was settled, Geraldine and her friends were 
 always willing to trust themselves to his skill and 
 care ; these pleasure-trips being usually enlivened by 
 a story from the old ' man-of-war's-man.' It .is true 
 that some of these became thrice-told tales ; but the 
 exactness with which the ' yarns ' were repeated only 
 impressed his hearers with a conviction of Watson's 
 veracity. He was an honest fellow in the main a 
 little addicted, it might be, to driving hard bargains 
 in the fishing-season, when he had got a successful 
 4 haul ' of fish, and was able to fix the market price ; 
 on which occasions, however, his full heart must vent 
 itself, and he usually made some excuse to call at the 
 cottage and relate his good fortune. Sometimes he 
 met with a rebuke instead of a congratulation, which 
 he listened to with the greatest respect, satisfying his 
 conscience with the reflection that his avocations bor- 
 dered on a sort of political economy quite beyond a 
 young lady's reasoning. Yet he did not think the 
 world contained so perfect a creature as his pat- 
 roness ; and imbued as he was with the deepest 
 reverence for her, an absolute affection, almost uncon- 
 sciously to himself, had taken still deeper root in his 
 heart. All these feelings had expressed themselves in 
 the only compliment he knew how to pay. On the 
 recent repairing and fresh painting of his darling boat, 
 he had called it the ' Geraldine,' its former laurels
 
 30 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 having been won under the repellant title of ' The 
 Gorgon.' Sailors must be exceedingly fond of the 
 hideously picturesque ; and it was a sacrifice to carve 
 away the unsightly figure-head into a shapeless mass, 
 which probably more resembled a cornucopia than 
 anything else. As for attempting to substitute a like- 
 ness of Geraldine herself, he would have thought it 
 presumption had a ghost from the old carvers arisen 
 to attempt it. 
 
 ' Are there many boats out ? ' continued Geraldine, 
 drawing her shawl tightly round her ; for the freshen- 
 ing breeze had almost plucked it from her shoulders. 
 
 'All our craft will be in before sun-down,' replied 
 Watson, ' if I know the men. I told them this morn- 
 ing a squall was coming on, and you see there's half- 
 a-dozen owners who took my advice, and their craft 
 are side by side my "Geraldine." But I tell you what, 
 miss there's a brig in the offing that had better hold 
 out to sea. This is nasty weather to come in without 
 a pilot ; and they hav'nt one on board, 1 know, by the 
 roads she is in now.' 
 
 Alas ! the seaman's fears were but too well founded. 
 As night drew on, so increased the hurricane ; and by 
 midnight the tempest was raging. The unfortunate 
 brig fired guns of distress ; but no boat could have 
 lived through the surf that broke round the coast, like 
 some guard of the furies to forbid a rescue. Geral- 
 dine Harmer slept not ; but though, often and often, 
 sympathy with the mariners' perils had kept her 
 wakeful, never before had she paced her own shel- 
 tered chamber with so anxious a heart. The brig 
 which had been shown her in the offing, and whose
 
 GERALDINE A LIFE. 31 
 
 guns of distress she had heard, haunted her with its 
 presence ; and the dangers of its crew pressed on her 
 imagination with a force and a mystery alike new to 
 her. It seemed as if her soul maintained some vague 
 yet spiritual union with them, and she already felt 
 that she knew the disasters which others could only 
 fear. 
 
 When the first leaden grey of morning dawned 
 Geraldine unbarred her window, and looked out on 
 the ocean in the distance. The rage of the tempest 
 had abated, but dark driving clouds still obscured the 
 sky, and the sea with a harsh roar still heaved in 
 monstrous billows, and lashed the shore with its yellow 
 foam. She could not distinguish what was doing on 
 the beach, but crowds of people here and there attested 
 some purpose of humanity or object of curiosity. Ger- 
 aldine roused a servant, and in a few minutes she and 
 her attendant hurried forth ; but as they approached 
 the beach some of the sailors intercepted them, anx- 
 ious to save women from the mournful scene to which 
 they had gathered. In few words the tale was told. 
 The brig had gone to pieces on the rocks, and the tide 
 had already washed several dead bodies on shore. 
 Shocked as Geraldine was, and her nerves shaken till 
 she found relief in a flood of tears, the scene even to 
 its minute details appeared but the realization of a 
 dream, and it did not seem within the power of her 
 will to leave the spot. She did not seek the sad 
 spectacles which presented themselves, but she could 
 not shun them 'Where is Watson?' she asked, 
 not seeing him among the many familiar faces that 
 crowded round her.
 
 32 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 4 He has gone off, ma'am,' replied a bystander, 
 4 with half-a-dozen other boats, in the hopes of still 
 saving some lives from the wreck.' 
 
 And another, who had been watching through a 
 glass the spot where a bare mast, sustaining a signal 
 flag, but rocking at the will of the winds, proclaimed 
 the scene of the disaster, exclaimed joyfully ' They 
 are turning back ! they are coming in ! ' 
 
 And so it was. Now riding on the crest of a wave, 
 now lost to sight in a watery ravine, the boats sped 
 homeward, battling with dangers and difficulties, but 
 surmounting them all. Presently they could be plainly 
 seen by every anxious watcher, and very soon each 
 separate craft could be distinguished. How the spring 
 of kindly thought and generous deed seemed touched 
 in every heart, as all showed themselves eager to 
 proffer assistance ! The first boat that touched the 
 beach contained six or eight sailors, not all English- 
 men, who had been rescued from impending death, 
 and from whom it was ascertained that the lost brig 
 was a merchant ship from Mexico and the Havanna ; 
 that the captain was among the lost, and that the few 
 passengers who were on board had met the same fate, 
 even in the desperate attempt which had been made to 
 rescue them together in the long boat. With one ex- 
 ception however, a child, a girl of ten or eleven years 
 old, who was reported to be saved. 
 
 It was the ' Geraldine ' which brought off this child ; 
 Watson had found her in a nearly insensible state, 
 lashed to a piece of the wreck beside the dead body of 
 a negro woman, said to have been her nurse and only 
 protector during the voyage. The woman had died
 
 GERALDINE A LIFE. 33 
 
 from some injury on the head some blow received, 
 no doubt, from the falling spars of the ill-fated vessel ; 
 but faithful to the death, her swarthy arm still encircled 
 the scarcely animate form of her charge. 
 
 Geraldine Harmer felt drawn irresistibly to the spot 
 where Watson was approaching the shingle. Every 
 one made way for her, and, saving the men who 
 waded through the surf to assist the landing, she was 
 the first to greet the brave old man. At the bottom of 
 the boat, and decently covered with a piece of canvas, 
 which imperfectly revealed the rigid outlines of death, 
 lay the body of the negress ; while in the prow, on a 
 couch made of the same rough fabric, the child was 
 extended. Exhausted as she was by suffering, her 
 loveliness was too remarkable to escape notice even at 
 a moment like this. Features that seemed chiselled to 
 the outline of perfect beauty were hers, and a com- 
 plexion not fair, it is true, but of unsullied clearness, 
 through which the flush of feeling was wont to be the 
 tell-tale of every passing thought. But now the cheek 
 was pallid, and the eyelids drooped, as if to lay their 
 long dark lashes against its whiteness. Her hair almost 
 black, but of a shade richer and brighter, was parted 
 and plaited with care, the ends being tied by what was 
 yesterday perhaps a gay colored ribbon, now stained 
 and faded by the sea-water. As Watson lifted her in 
 his arms, the lithe and graceful figure to which the sat- 
 urated garments clung, and the tiny feet and delicate 
 ankle, completed the picture. 
 
 Geraldine's kind and generous heart yearned to- 
 wards the desolate girl, and though many of the by- 
 standers offered succor and protection, they drew back 
 3
 
 34 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 almost as if relinquishing a claim, when she said, 
 ' Carry her home to the cottage to me. I will take 
 charge of her till she is claimed by her friends.' 
 
 And now a new life opened to Geraldine Harmer. 
 She did not know before how sweet a thing it was to 
 have one human being dependent on her for love and 
 help ; and before a week had passed she dreaded the 
 time which should bring tidings of the child's parentage, 
 or the assertion of claims greater than her own. Flo- 
 rentia was her name, and, as the child persisted and 
 believed, the only one she had ; and Spanish was the 
 only language that she spoke. Not, however, the pure 
 Castilian, which a student might have comprehended, 
 or to which Geraldine's knowledge of Italian would 
 have helped her, but a strange jargon which no one 
 could be found thoroughly to understand. And it was 
 remarkable that, as she acquired English, which she 
 did with wonderful facility, the child seemed to lose the 
 recollection of her native tongue ! Perhaps she was 
 even younger than she seemed, for tropical growth 
 defies European calculation; and fondly as in many 
 respects there was evidence she had been tended, her 
 mind was utterly uncultivated. She could not read, 
 and books even seemed a novelty to her ; though she 
 would turn them about, and look for embellishments of 
 art in their pages ; showing, too, in her choice, a quick 
 eye and right taste in appreciating a graceful outline, 
 or beautiful landscape. From the child's own account, 
 so far as she could make herself understood, her home 
 had been in a sultry climate, where she had lived with 
 a dark lady whom she called her mother, surrounded 
 with pomp and state and luxuries. That a short time
 
 GERALDINE A LIFE. 35 
 
 before she left this home her mother received a letter 
 a letter brought, she knew, from a ship ; that it con- 
 tained bad news, she was sure ; that her mother broke 
 into a passion of rage and grief on reading it ; that she 
 threw herself on the floor, and tore her hair in her 
 agony. That then she fell ill, but before she died, she 
 had bound Netta, the negress, by some fearful oath, to 
 do her bidding ; and that she had given her a jewel- 
 hilted dagger, for some purpose of vengeance, which 
 dagger, by the way, had been found on the body when 
 preparing it for interment. Of her father, Florentia 
 knew nothing, except that her mother wore a minia- 
 ture of him till the bad letter came, and that then she 
 had broken it into fragments and trampled it under her 
 feet. 
 
 What a story ! One in which just enough of fact 
 was told to awaken the curiosity it could not satisfy. It 
 seemed to point at love and guilt the betrayer and 
 the betrayed ; that love, if love it should be called, 
 which, lighted by the flame of jealousy, may change to 
 hate vengeance purposed crime every stormy 
 passion of the soul, every thing which rends and shat- 
 ters it except remorse. There could be little doubt 
 that Florentia was a quadroon, one of that class where 
 the point of mixed descent is generally as remarkable 
 for its beauty, as for the unhappy circumstances of 
 social position which descend as a legacy to a spurious 
 race. 
 
 Of Religion the child had none ; her only idea con- 
 nected with it being that of propitiating the Virgin, 
 whose image, in the form of a chased gold ornament, 
 she had constantly worn.
 
 36 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 Probably, had the captain of the brig been saved, be 
 might have been able to give some account of his pas- 
 sengers ; as it was, conjecture spent itself in vain sur- 
 mises. The advertisements inserted in England, and 
 sent out to Mexico, remained unanswered, and all 
 which could be ascertained and that was a sort of 
 negative information was that no such passengers as 
 the negress and the child had been registered to the 
 owners of the ship. Most probably some golden per- 
 suasions had overruled that customary formality. 
 
 Many a heart has a wider capacity for loving than 
 itself is at all aware of; but what a pity that affection 
 the only sweetener of existence should waste and 
 wither for want of objects on which to rest ! Most 
 truly has one of our deepest thinkers aye, and 
 sternest moralists too, for he lashes his fellow-men for 
 their follies and weaknesses almost as severely as for 
 their vices, and eschews all ' rose-water ' measures 
 as inefficacious most truly even h'e says that the 
 wealth of a man consists in the number of things that 
 he loves and blesses, and is loved and blessed by ; and 
 to believe this is surely the most beautiful faith in the 
 world, even as to go on increasing such riches, bestow- 
 ing and blessing as we receive and are blessed, is the 
 holiest and happiest life we can lead. Wherever the 
 seed of affection is sown, some weed of selfishness is 
 uprooted to make way for it. 
 
 Months passed away ; and now Florentia spoke 
 English fluently. If a slightly foreign accent still 
 hovered on her tongue, or some strange but yet ex- 
 pressive word found its place in a sentence, such 
 peculiarity but gave another charm to a voice that was
 
 GERALDINE A LIFE. 37 
 
 the most musical in the world. As graceful as she 
 was beautiful, her very presence was a perpetual 
 poetry in the house. Who could look at this woman- 
 ish child and childish woman, and not find excuse for 
 her faults, if by dint of narrow searching you could 
 discover them ? Certainly not Geraldine Harmer; for 
 the luscious intoxicating incense of affection rose up 
 round her, and obscured her judgment! It is a trite 
 remark, that we love better those we serve than them 
 who benefit us ; but there was an exception to the 
 rule here, for the child attached herself to her protec- 
 tress, and returned her affection with all the qutekness 
 and passion of her southern nature. Oh, that personal 
 love ! how very, very sweet it is ! The love of a 
 child or of a dog who attaches itself, not because we 
 are rich, or clever, or handsome, or even good, but for 
 some individuality about us that something which 
 we call oneself. If the child might hang about 
 Geraldine's neck, fall asleep with her head on her 
 knee, cling to her hand, or, failing this, hold by a 
 morsel of her dress, she was happy ; and she showed 
 that she was happy, by her sunny looks and the satis- 
 fied smile that played round her lips. She had the 
 cou:age too of a little lioness, when occasion called 
 it forth. Witness the following incident : 
 
 Geraldine had determined to be herself the instruc- 
 tress of her youthful protegee, and fully aware that a 
 mind possessing almost the quickness of maturity, 
 and yet presenting the very blank of early childhood, 
 could be subjected to no common discipline, imposed 
 but few set rules or book lessons on her pupil. But 
 how she talked ! how they talked, for the child ques-
 
 38 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 tioned and gave free expression to her thoughts ; and 
 Geraldine listened with no little interest to the strange 
 fresh ideas which found utterance. One day they 
 were taking a country walk together ; walking and 
 talking ; now of the bee or of the butterfly as it floated 
 near or dived into the cup of a wild flower ; now of the 
 sparkling stream they had just crossed, how it came 
 from the hills and was journeying to the sea; and now 
 of the blue sky overhead, and the stars that came 
 out when the sun went down. Suddenly they heard 
 a howling on the other side of the hedge ; and a cat 
 made furious by the driving of some mischievous boys 
 sprang through, and darting at Geraldine caused her 
 to scream with momentary and involuntary terror. In 
 an instant the child threw herself on the animal, and 
 though its talons literally ploughed into her hands and 
 her cheek, and though she fell to the ground in the 
 struggle, she relinquished not her hold on its throat. 
 The rage which flashed like an electric light from her 
 eyes, and flushed in her cheek, so altered her counte- 
 nance for the moment, that she would hardly have 
 been recognised by those who knew her best ; but it 
 gave way to a quiver of scorn round her lips as she 
 knew that the creature was strangling in the grasp of 
 her little hands, which neither Geraldine's attempts 
 nor entreaties could relax. They were alone for 
 the urchins, the original cause of their terror, had 
 made off in another direction ; and not till the unfor- 
 tunate cat had ceased to struggle and was dead in 
 her hands, did the child fling it from her and kick 
 it for carrion out of her path. 
 
 There was something in this scene which terrified
 
 . .. GERALDINE A LIFE. 39 
 
 Geraldine, if in a different manner, yet in a much 
 greater degree, than the furious cat had done. It was 
 the first gleam she had had of the stormy passions that 
 slumbered in that young heart ; and she felt what 
 giants to work good or evil were crouching there. 
 Florentia herself could not understand that she had 
 done the least wrong in giving way to her anger ; and 
 how could Geraldine chide very severely, when that 
 anger had been aroused in her defence ? 
 
 ' What shall I call you ? ' had been one of the child's 
 earliest questions to her protectress, and Geraldine 
 pausing a minute had said, ' Call me sister.' So sister, 
 sister, was the sweet word that rung daily, hourly, 
 in her ears, with a harmony of which she never 
 wearied, suggesting as it ever did some thought of 
 affection. Geraldine asked not herself how it was that 
 she cared so much less than before for her acquaint- 
 ances ; and yet it was so ; the companionship of the 
 loving and fresh-hearted child seemed all in all to her. 
 This love was her one reality in life. Let us pause to 
 ask if it clashed with that which was her soul's sus- 
 taining Idea ! 
 
 Not for one instant. Distinct as double stars, they 
 lent each other a light blended their rays it might be, 
 but never disturbed the harmony of her being. She 
 wrote to Lionel Weymouth a full account of the ship- 
 wreck ; mentioned the adoption of the little unknown 
 child ; described her extraordinary beauty ; sketched 
 her strange impulsive character ; gave even the anec- 
 dote of the slaughtered cat, which latter incident won' 
 from him a hearty approval, and caused him always to 
 mention her as the little heroine. He applauded Ger-
 
 40 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 aldine's adoption of her, and rejoiced that she had so 
 interesting a companion ; and now, when presents 
 came ' from India,' the protegee was sure to be remem- 
 bered. But the gift, however gorgeous or costly, was 
 always a childish toy. Lionel ..ad been told she was a 
 little girl of nine or ten, or eleven years old, and forgot 
 the change that four or five years must work in these 
 early spring-days of life. How swiftly they passed by, 
 seeming like a dream to look back on! yet they 
 opened to perfect loveliness the budding promise of the 
 child, while they stealthily robbed Geraldine of her 
 early bloom. Still she looked younger than she really 
 was ; as they always do when compared with com- 
 moner clay who have souls to light up the counte- 
 nance, and make known the one imperishable beauty 
 of expression. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 1 Be tended by 
 
 My blessing ! should my shadow cross thy thoughts 
 Too sadly for their peace, so put it back 
 For calmer hours in memory's darkest hold. 
 If unforgotten ! should it cross thy dreams, 
 So might it come like one that looks content, 
 With quiet eyes unfaithful to the truth.' TESSTSON. 
 
 WAS it summer or autumn ? Even the calendar 
 would scarcely have helped you to decide ? It was 
 the time when English scenery wears a gorgeous, and 
 yet sober hue ; when, in the still atmosphere, the dark- 
 robed trees stand motionless, as if too proud to sway
 
 GERALDINE A LIFE. 41 
 
 in the breeze, as they might when decked in palest 
 green, or laughing behind a mask of blossoms ; and 
 when the garden-flowers are no longer those richly, 
 scented children of the soil, that came like heralds 
 the heralds of the present statelier race. 
 
 As we have hinted, Time had done much in his own 
 quiet way during the last few years, and among other 
 things a certain avenue of beeches, mere saplings 
 when Geraldine first came to her cottage, had grown 
 to be the admiration of every visitor. Their boughs 
 just met overhead, in some cases kissing and parting 
 at the bidding of the faintest breeze, at others inter- 
 lacing their fibres and refusing a divorce. Beneath 
 these trees ran a hard and polished gravel path, though 
 at their very roots was spread that soft and mossy, dark 
 green turf, which tells of care and cultivation. 
 
 It was the evening of a warm bright day ; the sun 
 had already sunk far below the horizon, and the golden 
 harvest-moon decked the garden landscape in that 
 olden beauty, of which we never weary, and to which, 
 familiar as it is, we still find paid the meed and word 
 of admiration. Along the gravel path, beneath the 
 sheltering trees, a young girl danced, enticing after her 
 a favorite greyhound, whose airy morements seemed 
 typical of her own danced from the mere exuberance 
 of happiness and mirth danced to the only music*fcf 
 her own rich singing. Tuneful as that of a bird it 
 was, and almost as wild ; for though Florentia's deli- 
 cate ear saved her from the possibility of a discord, 
 she was wilful in her ways, and finding she could play 
 to please herself on any instrument which came 
 before her, and sing after the same fashion to the same
 
 42 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 easily contented auditor, she positively resisted all 
 study when she reached the point that would chain her 
 to application. Yet her snatches of song, and perfect 
 modulation, made up a charming music nevertheless. 
 
 And so she danced, her full white dress floating in 
 the soft breeze, now showing, now hiding her lithe and 
 graceful figure. A scarlet cashmere scarf, with richly 
 embroidered ends, had fallen from one shoulder, but 
 passing by her waist, was gathered lightly in her 
 hand. The scarf was Geraldine's, but it was one of 
 Florentia's wilful ways to appropriate for the moment 
 anything of her ' sister's' to which she took a fancy. 
 
 Geraldine Harmer might also have been seen in 
 the beech-tree avenue, but walking slowly, and some 
 lookers-on might have thought most calmly; for the 
 shadows were too heavy to show the fitful gleam of her 
 eye, or the quiver of her lip, whenever the sound of 
 wheels broke on her ear, or the listening sense was 
 strained to fantasy, and mocked her with its cheat. 
 In her hand she grasped a letter, she knew not why, 
 for every syllable of its brief contents seemed repeated 
 before her wherever she gazed, on the sombre trees, 
 or the calm cold sky. At last, at last Lionel Wey- 
 mouth had returned even now was speeding to greet 
 her, and had announced his coming in words more full 
 of tender meaning than any he had ever addressed to 
 her before. She felt that his heart had been through 
 the long years of absence as true as her own ; and 
 her frame trembled and reeled under the excess of her 
 happiness. 
 
 It was before the days of universal railroads, and 
 trusting to the uncertainties and delays of posting, there
 
 GERALDINE A LIFE. 43 
 
 is no wonder that Lionel Weymouth was an hour or 
 two later than he had expected to be. But why 
 should his coming at all bring such joy to Florentia ? 
 Simply because she understood, though vaguely, that 
 Geraldine's dearest friend, of whose goodness and 
 cleverness she had so often talked Geraldine would 
 scarcely have believed how often was coming at 
 last; and being herself always quite happy happy 
 to the very filling of her heart, this new delight brimmed 
 over the cup to that free burst of joyancy. 
 
 Hark ! now surely that is the sound of wheels ! 
 Yes, yes nearer : ah, there is the clatter of the 
 horses' hoofs upon the piece of shingly road. A car- 
 riage turns the corner, and now the postilions, directed 
 by some villager, sweep up to the gate. The servants 
 are ready, but a gentleman has sprung out before the 
 steps could be lowered. Florentia no longer sings, and 
 for a minute is motionless. And Geraldine Harmer 
 she who at this moment for the first time fully realizes 
 the depth and truth, and intensity of a love which has 
 been for ten years a portion of her being, is she also 
 awed to silent stillness ? Almost and yet she glides 
 as if impelled by some magnetic force into the deepest 
 shadow of the trees, her dress of darkest velvet does 
 not betray her, and she leans against a friendly trunk 
 to save herself from falling. The hour is come, and 
 yet her heart cries out, ' Not yet not yet ; it is too 
 much ! ' 
 
 But the stranger sees, by the full moonlight, the 
 graceful figure, standing like a white-robed statue in 
 the beech-tree avenue ; recognises, too, the scarf, his 
 gift, and bounding thither, clasps Florentia in his arms
 
 44 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 before she is aware, kisses her cheek with a trembling 
 lip, and murmurs the one word * Geraldine ! ' before 
 a laughing voice has time to say, ' I am not Geral- 
 dine ! ' 
 
 He starts discovers his mistake at a glance 
 makes a confused apology, and seeing Geraldine at 
 last, wreathes his arm round her ; but he is annoyed at 
 his own blundering precipitation, and neither kiss nor 
 embrace is so warm as those which were in truth the 
 
 free outbreak of his feelings ! 
 
 ^\ 
 
 ' Is she not beautiful ?' exclaimed Geraldine, an hour 
 or two afterwards, when a late dinner or early supper 
 being concluded, Florentia had left the room for a few 
 minutes. ' Is she not as beautiful as I told you she 
 was ?' 
 
 ' Beautiful ! ' replied Lionel Weymouth, ' she is the 
 loveliest creature I ever beheld !' 
 
 Yet, while he spoke, he held Geraldine's hand in his, 
 and had already found fit opportunity of breathing in 
 her ear the hopes and aspirations of his life. It was 
 late that night ere he left for the hotel where he had 
 engaged accommodation. 
 
 And now, Geraldine Harmer, indulge for the brief 
 interval you may the ecstasy of pure, unclouded hap- 
 piness the dream of perfect love. Thou bearest the 
 signet of thine own devotion, in the humility which 
 wonders how thou canst be so well beloved, com- 
 mingled with that unshaken faith which cannot doubt 
 his word. Dream on, poor woman heart, of earth's 
 choice happiness, and life's sole reality dream on; 
 the hours are brief, and years must fling their shadows,
 
 GERALDINE A LIFE. * 45 
 
 ere that dream, but in serener shape, shall descend to 
 thee from heaven again ! 
 
 Three weeks have passed : the scene is in London 
 now. Geraldine Harmer has accepted the invitation of 
 an old friend, and with Florentia has journeyed thither. 
 Some indefinable, yet right feeling, pointed out this 
 step. Lionel Weymouth desires her daily society ; 
 yet they are not to the world's eye betrothed. He 
 does not urge the declaration of their engagement, and 
 she instinctively shrinks from it. Kind, affectionate he 
 is, and yet and yet she is restless and unsatisfied! 
 But they are very gay as gay, at least, as London's 
 dullest season will permit ; and theatres are visited, 
 and a few parties are gathered together to do honor to 
 Lionel Weymouth. 
 
 It might be called Florentia's first introduction into 
 society ; but she had none of that girlish, bashful 
 awkwardness, which much oftener arises from anx- 
 ious vanity and excessive self-consciousness than 
 from the opposite cause. She was far too natural and 
 impulsive a being for anything of the sort ; she had 
 sprung, it is true, as if at one bound, from the child to 
 the woman ; but the simple, yet warm sincerity and 
 naive vivacity of her manners had a charm about them 
 as captivating as it was indescribable. And her 
 beauty of that there could not be two opinions. 
 Strangers raved of it, and on seeing her again, only 
 grew more and more extravagant in their expressions 
 of admiration. Lovers were already entering the lists, 
 and ' looking daggers ' at one another ; but awed by 
 some mysterious halo that seemed to encircle their 
 idol, they had not dared to avow their homage.
 
 46 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 As if to make amends for his one familiarity, how- 
 ever unintended, Lionel Weymouth treated Florentia 
 with a marked respect, that bordered on deference, and 
 had something singular in its character, when the dif- 
 ference of age between them was remembered. At 
 first, it could not have been quite easy for him to main- 
 tain, since she treated him as an old and familiar 
 friend ; but by quick degrees her manner changed, and 
 while to three fourths of her acquaintance she was still 
 the childish girl, to him she was ever the dignified 
 woman. His respect was even of a distant kind ; for 
 he always left to others to surround her with those 
 petits soins and nameless attentions, so many were 
 eager and ready to pay. Yet once, when a fop whom 
 she laughed at and despised, was forcing some knightly 
 service upon her somewhat against her will folding 
 and arranging a shawl for her shoulders, I think 
 Lionel Weymouth was quick to the rescue. But why 
 did his cheek flush, and his hands tremble ? and why, 
 when she thanked him with a look, and passed her arm 
 uninvited through his, did the flush change to paleness, 
 and the common-place words he strove to utter die 
 upon his tongue ? 
 
 Geraldine saw the look, the flush, the sudden pallor ; 
 but she only drew her opera-hood a little more over her 
 face, and took the arm of the discarded stripling. 
 
 It was the next day : Geraldine Harmer, who had 
 not hitherto in her whole life consented to a subterfuge, 
 for once planned and manoeuvred. She contrived that 
 Florentia and her hostess should be away for some 
 hours, and this during the time that Lionel Weymouth 
 was sure to call. He was shown into the drawing-
 
 GERALDINE A LIFE. 47 
 
 room, and awaited her coming, but only for a few 
 minutes. She entered, and a friendly greeting ensued ; 
 but as Gerald ine passed the nearest window, she drew 
 down the blind. It was a cloudy day, and yet the 
 light seemed gairish, as it always does to the mentally 
 oppressed blinding to her eyes and torturing to her 
 brain. Lionel Weymouth was seated in an easy chair, 
 and presently Geraldine found herself leaning over the 
 back of it. She felt that she must speak without being 
 seen ; she knew that she could not control her coun- 
 tenance. 
 
 ' Lionel,' she exclaimed, in a low, yet calm tone, 
 ' you are not happy ! ' 
 
 ' Not happy ! oh yes ; why not ? ' 
 
 ' Be frank,' she returned : * do not deceive yourself 
 or me. I repeat, you are not we are not happy ! ' 
 
 * Geraldine ! ' It was the only word to which it 
 seemed he could give utterance there was a forced 
 intention to take her hand ; but a stronger and truer 
 impulse restrained him. 
 
 ' And yet,' she continued, ' the first wish of my heart, 
 
 the purpose of my life is to make you happy.' 
 
 ' Best Geraldine ! ' But now he stooped his head, and 
 buried his face in his hands. 
 
 * Even ' and she touched his arm as she spoke 
 ' even if your happiness must take a different shape 
 from that foolish dream of early life. Moreover I 
 blame you not I see your sufferings, and from my 
 soul I pity them.' 
 
 ' Oh, that you would despise and rebuke me instead 
 
 your scorn, so well deserved, would be more endur- 
 able than such compassion.'
 
 48 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 ' You are ungenerous now. Would you rob me of 
 my own self-respect ? While I honor and esteem you, 
 I shall not be ashamed of and her voice perceptibly 
 trembled 'of the love I have borne you.' 
 
 ' And I ! Oh, Geraldine, if you but knew how, for 
 long years I have worshipped your image how every 
 aim of existence has circled round to one dear hope 
 how, even now, how very dear you are to me ' 
 
 ' And yet,' interrupted Geraldine, * you love Flo- 
 rentia ! ' 
 
 There was a pause ; one of those pauses in which 
 the tongue is chained because emotions crowd and 
 crush together, paralyzing every power except the keen 
 experience of the heart's unutterable agony. What he 
 felt was but vaguely shadowed forth ; less clearly told 
 by word or gesture than by the rigid lines of suffering 
 to which his visage moulded. With Geraldine the last 
 ray of hope, which quite unconsciously to herself had 
 lingered in her heart and redeemed it from utter dark- 
 ness, expired, and groping for a moment in the 
 gloom her reason took time to recover its balance. 
 But bravely it wrestled, and beautifully her soul tri- 
 umphed. 
 
 ' Youth has departed,' continued Geraldine, at length, 
 ' and I should have known that the few graces *' 
 
 ' No no,' interrupted Lionel, seizing her hand, and 
 pressing it between his own ; ' I will not listen to such 
 words. Take me for I am yours take me, and 
 save me from myself! Take me, directly to-mor- 
 row ; forgive me this wandering of the will, and I will 
 learn to look upon it as a madness ! Take me, Ger- 
 aldine ! '
 
 GERALDINE A LIFE. 49 
 
 * To scorn myself and blight the happiness of the 
 two beings I love best in the world? Never! You do 
 not know me, Lionel Weymouth.' 
 
 ' Oh, do not draw your hand away, and speak so 
 sternly. Even now, in my humiliation and deep mis- 
 ery, it is your sympathy I want. And yet, Geraldine, 
 it is well for you to be cold.' 
 
 * Cold ! ' \t was but the one word she could utter, 
 and as it came forth it seemed to freeze her lips, and 
 keep them parted cold! when at that moment she 
 would have flung herself at his feet to be trampled in 
 the mire, if that could have given him peace ; cold ! 
 when the large silent tears of agony were falling from 
 her eyes, unregarded by him, though they splashed 
 like rain-drops on his shoulder ; cold ! when, for one 
 word or look of genuine love from the idol of her wor- 
 ship, she would have thought life itself but a fit sacri- 
 fice ! . Yet gentle, though heroic, as was her nature 
 the word had stung her, and spurred from its lair that 
 fiery steed, a woman's pride. 
 
 ' Take me,' repeated Lionel, * and forgive this 
 madness.' 
 
 ' It was the past which was madness,' said Geraldine, 
 firmly ; and her tears seemed now absorbed by the 
 long lashes at least, they fell no longer. ' You will 
 marry Florentia ! ' 
 
 ' Yes,' she continued, after a brief silence for he 
 was speechless, and had buried his face in his hand- 
 kerchief ' and by-and-bye we shall smile at the old 
 maid's " love passage," and wonder how she could have 
 been so foolish.' 
 
 4
 
 50 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 * Florentia may avenge your wrongs, Geraldine, and 
 refuse to love me.' 
 
 There was something in these words which again 
 unnerved her. Refuse to love him that seemed im- 
 possible ! But she spoke calmly, and said, ' I have no 
 wrongs to be avenged ; dismiss such a thought from 
 your mind. And and Florentia admires you, that 
 I know. And think you that securing h^r happiness 
 will not bring peace to me ? Ah ! you cannot tell how 
 dear she is to me dear as any sister could have have 
 been, dear almost as I could fancy a child might be.' 
 
 She spoke the truth, and yet her words, as truth may 
 often do, conveyed a false impression. Lionel Wey- 
 mouth believed at that moment that Florentia was 
 dearer to her than he had ever been ; and that several 
 wishes and feelings worked together to prompt her 
 present conduct. Her resolution might, in some mea- 
 sure, have been strengthened by her love for the object 
 of his passion, yet not in the manner or to the degree 
 that he imagined. Geraldine Harmer was one who 
 acted from her own right impulses, yoked with, rather 
 than chained by, high principles; yet she did not ana- 
 lyze her motives narrowly enough to find how noble they 
 were. And her generous nature unconsciously masked 
 its generosity partly from that interwoven pride, 
 without which no character has dignity, and partly 
 from the sensitive delicacy which shrinks from making 
 another feel the object of a sacrifice or the recipient of 
 a favor. 
 
 Ah, how seldom the best and wisest of us can judge 
 truly of another ! Faults and weaknesses rise like 
 straws to the surface ; and great virtues, thrown up by
 
 GERALDINE A LIFE. 51 
 
 the storms of life like pearls from the deep be- 
 come apparent ; but the intermediate world, which is 
 that of habitual emotion and daily existence, which 
 makes the realities of life, and which moulds the indi- 
 viduality of character, is seldom fathomed. No won- 
 der Lionel Weymouth failed to see the ruin he had 
 worked ; the beautiful palace which Hope had built 
 and Faith made strong, laid prostrate in the dust ; and 
 Desolation growing to a giant, and brooding over the 
 fragments ! 
 
 It was a rapid wooing, that of Florentia Lawson 
 (Geraldine had bestowed on her protegee her own 
 mother's name.) A few weeks and the wedding-day 
 was named, and no one paused, or had paused to 
 consider if it were a gulf or a haven before the pair. 
 So great the difference of years between them, that in 
 her happy days Geraldine had shrunk from making 
 Florentia her confidante, and the artless girl had never 
 suspected that the most dear friend of whom she had 
 heard so much could be looked on in any other light. 
 Yes, it was Geraldine's praise of him she loved that had 
 prepared her to admire him ; and when Lionel came, 
 she saw a man in the prime and pride of life, with a 
 mind well stored and enriched by travel and observa- 
 tion ; though, perhaps, she did not herself know how 
 much the impression he made on her was deepened by 
 his'being the first of his sex who treated her otherwise 
 than as a child. 
 
 Geraldine was the first to hint to Florentia that 
 Lionel loved her. Partly because her own soul once 
 nerved to meet the destiny which was before her, she 
 felt there must be no pause or hesitation in its course ;
 
 52 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 and partly because, generous to the last, she was 
 willing to prepare his way before him. Startled as the 
 young girl was at first, surprise soon gave way to an 
 intoxication of delight ; it was all true, and in a few, 
 very few days they were betrothed. Now came a new 
 trial for Geraldine : with the innocent frankness of a 
 child, Florentia would sit at her feet, and throwing back 
 the rich clustering curls from her face as she looked up, 
 would talk of her happiness, and pour out her praises 
 of him. The admiration she had first experienced still 
 held its place in her heart ; and side by side with it now 
 stood pride pride at being the object of his choice. 
 Nor was she insensible to the influence and charm of 
 his wealth ; though if visions of future magnificence 
 floated before her, it is only just to own, there was not 
 one in which her dear 'sister' had not place was 
 not to be endowed with some costly gift, or pleased with 
 some expensive enjoyment. But if she was proud of 
 being chosen, was not he proud of being accepted ? 
 Yes. She was so young so beautiful ; and when 
 her lip answered to his kiss, he felt assured he was 
 beloved ! 
 
 Pride admiration passion the common ele- 
 ments wherewith poor self-deluders think to build up 
 wedded happiness ! As much material as can be ex- 
 pected when there is a score of years' disparity between 
 the parties ; unless, indeed, the mating be at that later 
 period of life when character on both sides is formed 
 and developed, and the difference of a score of years 
 or a score of weeks would be equally unimportant. 
 But Love there was not there could not be; Love 
 which is Sympathy, and of which the fond caress or
 
 GERALDINE A LIFE. 53 
 
 endearing word is but an outward and earthly type. If 
 we speak to be understood yea, if we only think, for 
 another's thoughts to flow in unison with ours, not wea- 
 rying with tame monotony, but even as bright rivers 
 mingle ere they reach the ocean, bringing each to 
 each its separate wealth and separate hue enriching, 
 strengthening, beautifying ! this there was not. 
 
 What Geraldine Harmer endured is written only in 
 that book, where surely beyond the skies a record is 
 kept of Woman's trials and sacrifices. Hours of des- 
 pair, in which madness with all its terrors hovered near, 
 and death, which seemed more distant, looked like a 
 benignant angel, yet one forbid to aid her, She made 
 no confidante she was too proud to do so ; and in- 
 dulged not in demonstrations. Still it was impossible 
 such struggles could endure without making sign of 
 their work ; but the cluster of acquaintances we call 
 'the world' who never, I believe, by any chance 
 guess rightly the riddles of life attributed her look- 
 ing ill to the fatigue and excitement she was undergoing 
 in preparing for the wedding. Everybody congratu- 
 lated her on the ' brilliant match ' her protegee was 
 making, much as they would a dowager, on the like 
 bestowal of a portionless daughter. And without any 
 positive intentions of malice or scandal, they added 
 half a dozen years at least to her age ; as well they 
 might, for the lingering traces of youth had departed 
 suddenly and for ever, and her long, fine hair, which 
 only a few weeks since was dark, and rich, and abun- 
 dant, now showed lines of white that seemed to thicken 
 day by day. Her beautiful hair ! of which she had 
 been conscious and proud even a little vain this
 
 54 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 too must be laid upon the altar of her vanished wasted 
 Youth ! Strange that those whitening tresses had a 
 spell which flung a shadow in his path, and saddened 
 Lionel Weymouth's spirit even on his Wedding Day ! 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 ' If I be sure I am not dreaming now, 
 I should not doubt to say it was a dream.' 
 
 SUELLKT. 
 
 YEARS haye passed away ; seven years at least. It 
 is a bright spring day when spring has caught a 
 flower or two from summer that is so close at hand. 
 Birds trill their glad notes from the neighboring boughs, 
 now in gay chorus, now taking up the single strain as 
 if in loving rivalry. The buzz of busy insects fills 
 the air, and every sound and sight of nature is typical 
 of joy and youth, showing once more the old and yet 
 the new-born graces of the Hebe-Mother earth ! 
 
 Soon after his marriage, Lionel Weymouth had 
 purchased a beautiful residence, with highly-cultivated 
 pleasure-grounds, within an easy drive of the metropo- 
 lis. And here we still find him. But those seven 
 years have brought their chances and changes, and life 
 wears to him now a very different aspect. He is seated 
 near an open window, and near him is a lady, a much- 
 loved visitor, arrived within these few hours, after an 
 absence of many months on the continent. The 
 reader should recognise her at once, for Geraldine 
 Harmer is very little altered ; or, if altered at all, one
 
 GERALDINE A LIFE. 55 
 
 might say improved in appearance. She did not look 
 any older than on the 'wedding day' we parted from 
 her ; and though suffering now from painful anxiety, 
 her countenance had lost the habitual shade of sadness 
 it then wore. It would seem that at one bound she 
 had sprung from almost youth to that most uncertain 
 of all ages called ' certain ; ' but that since then, Time 
 had passed her by, without claiming his tribute. He 
 had even stayed the bleaching of the hair, which 
 showed in massive glossy coils beneath the prettiest 
 of morning caps (a Parisian purchase), which Ge- 
 raldine wore ; the few lines of silver among the braids 
 which shaded her cheek being by no means unbe- 
 coming they never are, when forty years are fairly 
 passed. Nature adapts her pictures better than the 
 inventors of patent wigs and mysterious hair dyes, and 
 the whitening locks harmonize with the fading cheek, 
 with which youthful tresses only contrast. Then Ge- 
 raldine had the good taste to eschew girlish costume, 
 and dress like what she was the woman of forty-one 
 or two. Having mentioned the pretty cap therefore, 
 I may add that her dress was of a rich, dark silk 
 made, however, very fashionably, and which set off 
 her figure, unimpaired in its roundness and symmetry, 
 to the greatest advantage. 
 
 I really fear that in my earlier chapters I neglected 
 to describe Geraldine's person ; and now it is so late 
 in the day, I must needs be brief. Of the middle 
 height, with fine eyes, a pretty mouth, and good 
 teeth, many people thought her still a very ' charming 
 woman ; ' and every one who had made her acquaint- 
 ance lately, believed she must been very handsome a
 
 56 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 few years ago. Perhaps this was not altogether true : 
 her beauty consisted very much in the beauty of ex- 
 pression ; and as this depends on character, and as 
 every development of character with her had been a 
 beautiful one, it is very possible that she was better- 
 looking for a woman of forty than she had been as 
 the girl of twenty. She might have married within 
 the last seven years, as the saying is, ' over and over 
 again ;' and there is no numbering how many oppor- 
 tunities she had had of choosing during her tour on 
 the continent (made with friends who were known at 
 every court in Europe) among German barons and 
 Italian counts ; but not even a French peer, who was 
 neither old nor disagreeable, could make her appre- 
 ciate the privilege of embroidering a coronet on her 
 handkerchief. 
 
 Clinging lovingly by her side was her godchild and 
 namesake, Lionel's eldest daughter, a beautiful girl of 
 six years old. She took not after her mother, for she 
 was grave and thoughtful beyond her years, and loved 
 better to hold by Geraldine's hand and listen to her 
 words, than play with her gayer and younger sister, 
 the little Florentia, who was just now alternately 
 chasing a butterfly and trampling down the flower- 
 beds, or gambolling with Misa the greyhound, once 
 before mentioned in this history, who was grown by 
 this time an old dog. But Lionel Weymouth had 
 much to say to Geraldine, unfit for the quick ears of six 
 years old to receive ; and urging that her sister wanted 
 her companionship, and only half-enjoyed her sports 
 without her, he enticed the docile child from the 
 verandah to the garden.
 
 GERALDINE A LIFE. 57 
 
 For a period that might be counted by years, Ge- 
 raldine had been content and serene in the presence 
 of Lionel Weymouth. It is true that he was still the 
 dearest object on earth to her heart : but her affection 
 was so moulded with love for Florentia, and entire 
 devotion to their children, that there was not one 
 selfish feeling intermingled, or a thought she had need 
 to hide from her own scrutiny, when remembering 
 him as the husband of another. As much could not 
 be said for Lionel Weymouth ; for though worlds 
 would not have tempted him to breathe a thought 
 that could have disturbed the serenity he knew she 
 had regained, there were regrets and convictions buried 
 in the inmost recesses of his own heart, which, strive 
 as he might to stifle and extinguish them, still burned 
 on with constant power to torture. Laid out as in a 
 map, he now could see how blessed a lot his life would 
 have been with her whose true and long-tried love he 
 had despised and rejected ! What had it been for 
 seven long years ? A dream of unsatisfied longings, 
 whose only waking reality had been Disappoint- 
 ment! 
 
 ' How kind of you,' he exclaimed as soon as the 
 child had left them how kind of you to come thus 
 promptly at my summons ! Yet it is only like your- 
 self; for I never yet knew you pause at a sacrifice of 
 your own convenience.' 
 
 ' My dear friend,' replied Geraldine, * you give me 
 praise where I do not deserve it. My coming has 
 been perfectly convenient ; and now only let me stay 
 as long as t can be useful.' 
 
 ' Then you must stay for ever,' said Weymouth
 
 58 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 mournfully ; ' for you only have power to sway Flo- 
 rentia's anger. Even to you, Geraldine, it is a self- 
 laceration for me to confess the agonies of the last six 
 months. That I have been wronged or dishonored I 
 do not believe ; she is alike too pure and too proud for 
 that. But the step I have taken in prohibiting this 
 Italian the house, and intercepting their correspond- 
 ence I have never broken a seal, but burnt the 
 letters unread became imperative to save myself 
 from insult, and her reputation from injury. Nay, 
 Geraldine, do not weep, for your tears wring my heart 
 more than my own sorrows.' 
 
 ' This dreadful story,' murmured Geraldine, ' seems 
 more than I can realize. In the same house, yet 
 refuse to see you ! you the most indulgent husband 
 I ever knew. Violent and indignant at this first as- 
 sumption of authority, and declaring she has ceased to 
 love you ! ' 
 
 ' For a long time I have known that mournful truth,' 
 he replied ; and, as he continued, his countenance 
 assumed the same rigid mould of suffering which 
 occasioned once before, but by a far different scene, 
 was never to be forgotten by Geraldine ' for a long 
 time I have known that wretched truth. And with love 
 extinguished, sympathy dwarfed and dying, and my 
 imagination shamed from the falsity which painted 
 everything between us in its own bright colors, I have 
 no hope but for our children's sakes to maintain the 
 respectabilities of life, and let Appearance cheat the 
 world and stalk like a ghost above the grave of my 
 happiness.' 
 
 ' Happiness ! ' the word was echoed, but not by
 
 GERALDINE A LIFE. 59 
 
 Geraldine Harmer. At the moment Lionel had utter- 
 ed it, Florentia glided into the room : she was attired 
 in a loose white muslin wrapper, her long dark hair 
 partially gathered up with a comb, but two or three 
 heavy curls still falling on her shoulders ; her cheeks 
 were colorless, and her eyes heavy, as eyes become 
 from want of sleep, or from the ' weight of unshed 
 tears.' Geraldine's first impulse was to rise and em- 
 brace her ; but Florentia waved her away, and resting 
 her hand on the opposite side of the table which sepa- 
 rated her from her husband also, she exclaimed, ' Do 
 not touch me, my sister, my friend. It was because I 
 dreaded your affection that I refused to see you an 
 hour ago. 1 feel that I shall lose my senses if I am 
 melted to softness or tears, and there are many things 
 I wish to speak of calmly and clearly.' 
 
 Geraldine attempted some soothing reply, but the 
 words died on her lips ; and both she and Weymouth 
 felt awed to silence and attention. 
 
 'I can read in your countenance,' she continued, 
 addressing Geraldine, 'that Tie has made his deadly 
 accusation ; and only to you of all human beings, and 
 only in his presence, would I deign to contradict this 
 foulest charge. Hear me, just Heaven ! By my 
 children's sacred selves I swear it ! ' And raising the 
 hand, already clenched, above her head, she poured 
 forth asseverations of her innocence that were awful 
 from the fervor and intensity of her expressions. 
 
 ' He does not doubt you he does not doubt you, ' 
 repeated Geraldine more than once ere the wretched 
 wife comprehended her words : ' had you entered the 
 room but a few minutes earlier, you would have heard 
 his confident assertion.'
 
 60 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 Mechanically, as it were, Florentia's eyes wandered 
 from Geraldine's countenance to that of her husband, 
 who, visibly affected, returned her gaze, it might be 
 with more tenderness than she had seen in his looks 
 for many a day. She took the hand he held towards 
 her, and pressed it for a moment. ' If I have not to 
 defend myself,' she said, but sinking now into a low 
 chair that was beside her, ' it is fit I should make a 
 confession of such things as are true. Ah, Geraldine 
 Harmer, you little thought when I was saved from 
 the ocean which ought to have been my grave, that I 
 should live to hate my life, and most of all to hate 
 the destiny by which you fostered and cherished me. 
 And Lionel Weymouth, my husband, you little guessed 
 when early in our married days you showed me the 
 letters which, still preserved with care, had travelled 
 to another hemisphere and back again the letters 
 from Geraldine, which told my story, that their perusal 
 was the sowing of deadly seeds in my heart. Little 
 more than a child, I was ignorant then of the heart's 
 wants and its mysteries; but I lived quickly and 
 quickly learned a dreadful history. Yes, without 
 knowing one detail, I know it have long known it 
 as truly as if I were conscious of them all. You loved 
 one another ! ' 
 
 ' Hush ! ' said Lionel authoritatively ; while Geral- 
 dine buried her face in her handkerchief, and could 
 only by a gesture implore her to be silent. 
 
 ' I must speak,' continued Florentia, but rising and 
 bending over Geraldine, whom she caressed like a 
 child. ' Sister, I do not think you ever knew how 
 much I loved you. Nobody could love you as much
 
 GERALDINE A LIFE. 61 
 
 as T, because no one could know you so well ; and 
 when I left you for him yes, even then there was an 
 aching void in my heart that nothing but your presence 
 could fill. A bad sign this, was it not ? and such an 
 one does not appear when pairs are mated by years, 
 and sympathy and tastes, and a certain heart affection, 
 that is not altogether what the world very falsely calls 
 " love. " Well, the deadly knowledge came the 
 knowledge that lifted up a curtain and explained every- 
 thing which had seemed a mystery. The secluded 
 youth the single life the perfect faith and the 
 bitter requital. And I I the creature of your 
 goodness I, who so loved you, to have been the 
 cause of a life's misery I who would have died for 
 you a thousand cruel deaths Geraldine, if I am mad 
 do you have mercy on me.' And Florentia, falling on 
 her knees, flung her arms about the other as if she were 
 indeed a maniac. Presently tears came to her relief, 
 accompanied by deep drawn sobs. 
 
 It was a dreadful scene for all ; but one that was not 
 now to be ended suddenly or abruptly. Like swimmers 
 plunged in deep water, they could not touch the shore 
 of safer discourse in a moment. 
 
 c How bitter was my knowledge,' pursued Florentia, 
 when she had become a little calmer, ' words cannot 
 tell : the more bitter because I soon perceived that, 
 grown used to my fatal beauty it was, that you both 
 know it was that which drew him to me he dis- 
 covered that my thoughts were not his thoughts, my 
 pleasures and pursuits not his. It is pleasant to be 
 pupil and teacher sometimes ; but not always, as we 
 were. He wanted a friend more often, and I was only
 
 62 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 a plaything. It might be different now, for my heart 
 has grown old and wise lately ; but love once burnt out 
 is never to be re-kindled ; however, I too had discov- 
 eries to make. It is not good to analyze one's affections 
 very closely happy people never do it but I could 
 not help such weakness, and I found that I too was 
 unsatisfied. I found that I wanted the companionship 
 of a young heart that haA everything to hope for in 
 life, instead of present existence to enjoy. I wearied 
 of every luxury, directly its novelty was gone ; I wanted 
 some one to laugh with my foolish thoughts and foolish 
 deeds ; not a, or worse rebuke them ; I wanted 
 some one with whom, not from whom, hand in hand I 
 could win my experience. I wanted a Young Heart 
 to answer mine, even as he wanted one as wise and as 
 gentle as yours.' 
 
 ' One thing more,' she continued ; ' and it shall be 
 said, if I die in the telling. In him whose name has 
 been slanderously coupled with mine the young poet, 
 the exiled patriot whose heart was one strong spring 
 of hope and aspiration whose love was the love of 
 life or death, not like your English love ! ' and her 
 lip curled scornfully as she uttered the word ' not 
 like your English love, whose pulses are regulated by 
 the jingling of your gold ; in him I recognised the 
 soul's companion God had portioned for me. And yet 
 we parted without a sign that could wrong my husband ; 
 parted with the cold measured adieu of friendship ; 
 parted without the utterance of one word that could 
 open the tomb of either heart ! Now tell me for what 
 I have to live ? ' 
 
 While she had been speaking Florentia had taken
 
 GERALDINE A LIFE. 53 
 
 from the table the jewel-hilted dagger, which years 
 before had been intended for some dark though unex- 
 plained purpose, but which from its costliness had been 
 considered latterly a mere toy and ornament. She 
 took it from its sheath, and felt with her hand the 
 temper of the blade, which, blunted no doubt by time, 
 and rusted from neglect, looked a less murderous 
 weapon than it might formerly have done. Still there 
 was something in the action which terrified Geraldine 
 to a degree of which she felt almost ashamed, and 
 coupled with the words, ' Tell me for what I have to 
 live?' thrilled through her whole frame. 
 
 ' Your children, Florentia ! ' she exclaimed with 
 much feeling, and attempting at the same moment to 
 take the dagger from her hand. 
 
 But Florentia started to her feet ; there was a wild 
 flash in her eyes which even Lionel noticed, and 
 which communicated Geraldine's terrors to him. She 
 clutched the dagger yet more tightly as she cried, 
 ' My children ! they will be better cared for by their 
 step-mother than they could be by me ; they will be 
 better loved by their father than now, when the only 
 impediment to his happiness is removed.' 
 
 ' Florentia, you are mad to talk thus wildly,' ex- 
 claimed Weymouth, and attempting at the same mo- 
 ment to wrest the dagger from her grasp. But this 
 was not to be easily done ; and in the hand to hand 
 struggle which ensued, the point grazed her throat, so 
 that the blood flowed freely. 
 
 ' Mad mad yes, I am mad ! ' she cried ; ' but not 
 mad enough to be frightened at such a stream as this ; ' 
 and she resisted as earnestly as she could their attempts 
 to stay the bleeding.
 
 64 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 But let me not dwell on the terrors of a scene like 
 this. Too many hearts there are so darkly learned that 
 they can remember tragedies of human life, whose 
 lurid light enables them to realize and understand 
 those storms of passion which happier and less sadly 
 experienced mortals can but feebly picture ; scenes in 
 which some human heart seems in its anguish torn 
 open, its sacred depths laid bare, and unimagined 
 horrors dragged to light ! Before midnight, Florentia 
 raved in the delirium of brain fever ! Raved chiefly 
 of those two who were her most tender watchers 
 of her husband and Geraldine Harmer recognising 
 them at intervals, and perpetually joining their hands ! 
 
 Physicians crowded round her, but all their efforts 
 were unavailing. By-and-bye her thoughts receded to 
 the days of her childhood, and she talked of her trop- 
 ical home and her dark-browed mother ; yea, even 
 with more precision than she had ever done by the 
 light of life and reason ! Oh, Death and Madness, 
 what mysteries are in your presence and your coming ! 
 
 By degrees all newer memories were swept from 
 the seared and troubled mind, until she spoke only of 
 those early years ; of Netta the negress ; her mother ; 
 the shipwreck ; and the scene of confiding the dagger ; 
 but here she broke into the jargon of that mother 
 tongue so long forgotten, and the words which might 
 have been the revealing of an untold tale, died on the 
 air without leaving a memory or a meaning behind 
 them ! And who shall say oblivion was not the best 
 grave for a record so dread ? 
 
 And Florentia, the young and the beautiful, died in 
 the flower of her days ; died in her sorrow and mad-
 
 GERALDINE A LIFE. 05 
 
 ness ; died clasped fondly by the Two whose hearts 
 for long years she had sundered ; the Two whom her 
 death would, in the sure course of measured time, again 
 make One ; the Two whose souls were yet so wrung 
 by the anguish of that last scene, that not a thought of 
 self had place in either heart, where not one gleam of 
 light from the future had power to dispel the agony of 
 the present. 
 
 It were a common figure of speech to say that Ger- 
 aldine Harmer would have died to save that young life, 
 and make its happiness. She had died a darker death 
 ^br her sake and another's years ago. And not 
 less true is it that at this dread hour the heart of Lionel 
 Weymouth melted to a tenderness and affection he had 
 not known even in the days of his passionate worship. 
 The girlish wife the early dead the mother of his 
 children the once so wildly loved, were attributes 
 that moulded into a sentiment and took root in his 
 nature too deeply henceforth to change or depart. 
 
 How strange those Two should mourn the Dead to- 
 gether ! and yet how natural ! cherishing each token 
 of her presence, and embalming her memory by every 
 affectionate tribute ! Why had she lived at all, or come 
 like a meteor across their path ? 
 
 For some great purpose, inscrutable here, but de- 
 creed by a Power to whom our wisdom is folly. 
 
 How strange the second wooing of Gerald ine Har- 
 mer by Lionel Weymouth and yet how natural ! 
 Life now wore a soberer hue than it had done some 
 twenty years before ; but if happiness seemed less 
 ecstatic, it was more serene and secure. She, whose 
 5
 
 66 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 woman's life has thus been pencilled forth, is indeed a 
 loving ' mother ' to the Geraldine and Florentia 
 who, ' sisters ' in truth, are almost shielded by guardian 
 hands from even children's sorrows. But the Life of 
 the Heart ? Ah, that for them is still in the future. 
 
 Time heals ever as he touches ; softening even the 
 harshest outlines by distance ; and there is not a thing 
 in the Past of which Lionel Weymouth and his wife 
 cannot now talk freely and calmly. They stood one 
 day near the drawing-room window already mentioned. 
 It was months after their marriage, and two years since 
 Florentia's death. Her children were playing in the 
 verandah before them ; the younger grown a little more 
 stately with the increase of two years to her little life, 
 while the elder had become gayer in a like proportion, 
 so that strangers would have failed to see the different 
 outlines of character, which they who loved them best 
 nevertheless understood. 
 
 ' Geraldine,' said Lionel his arm was round her 
 waist, and he had been looking fondly in her face for 
 a minute or two 'Geraldine, in my eyes you were 
 never so beautiful as you now are. No, not even in 
 the bloom of youth. I loved you then as well as my 
 untried nature was capable of loving ; but had I loved 
 you as you deserved to be loved, I should not even 
 have seen the change which I suppose ten years of 
 absence worked. Or if I had seen I should have ap- 
 proved should have felt that to be other than your- 
 self precisely would have left something wanting 
 
 should have thought and known .' He paused a 
 
 moment.
 
 GEEALDINE A LIFE. 67 
 
 'What?' asked Geraldine, looking up, and fondly 
 kissing the hand she held in hers. 
 
 ' I should have known,' he replied, ' that Love de- 
 pends for its birth and existence on something quite 
 irrespective of Youth and Beauty.'
 
 THE SHAWL BUYER. 
 
 >< AH INCIDENT OF 1843. 
 
 , 
 
 BRANCHING off from one of those wide, leading, ever- 
 crowded streets, which are aptly called the arteries of 
 the metropolis, is a certain insignificant turning, which 
 not even boasting itself as a thoroughfare, is seldom 
 remarked by the hurried pedestrian, unless he have 
 business in one of the half dozen dull, dingy looking 
 houses which rise on each side of the avenue. Yet at 
 one corner, with windows embracing both sides of the 
 house, is a certain shop, which may be called linen- 
 draper's, hosier's, glover's, or, if you will, an outfitting 
 warehouse so varied and crowded does the merchan- 
 dise seem. Perhaps, "however, my readers will better 
 understand the description if I call it a ticketing shop. 
 Yes, there are doubtless at this moment suspended 
 the Brobdignag tickets expressive of shillings, accom- 
 panied by microscopic pence ; while ribbons, gloves, 
 and other trifling wares, are placed temptingly for- 
 ward, decorated with legible inky intimations of pence, 
 which on a nearer inspection one finds encumbered 
 with mystical figures, traced as it appears, by an HH. 
 pencil, and signifying three farthings. The shop door
 
 THE SHAWL BUYER. 69 
 
 faces the great thoroughfare ; the private door is in the 
 narrow, unfrequented street. The latter is but little 
 used ; and on the step of it on a certain day, last 
 October, were seated two meanly clad women. Both 
 were apparently in abject poverty nay, they might be 
 mendicants, for aught ihe passer-by could tell ; yet if 
 he paused a moment, and his eyes had the privilege 
 of direct communication with his understanding, he 
 would feel assured that they were very different beings. 
 Companions, associates, they might be, and were, the 
 strange fellow-laborers which adversity yokes together ; 
 but this was all. 
 
 The younger of the two, who looked about five-and- 
 thirty years of age, and whose tattered apparel was 
 black, was weeping bitterly, and rocking to and fro on 
 the cold stone in her anguish. The countenance of 
 the other seemed one that had been distorted by many 
 a violent passion ; and, moreover, was not unused to 
 the debasing influence of intemperance. 
 
 ' Maiy Morris,' said the latter, addressing her com- 
 panion, ' I wonder you can be such a fool to grieve 
 about one of them rich people ! Let them sicken, and 
 die ; what should we care ? For my part I like to see 
 them suffer, and know they are miserable ; it's a 
 comfort, that it is.' 
 
 'Oh, Hannah, don't talk so,' said the other through 
 her tears. 
 
 ' But I shall talk so. Don't they grind us down to 
 what we are ? You say, it is the shopkeepers, and that 
 the ladies know nothing about the price we get. I say, 
 they ought to know.' 
 
 They don't think.'
 
 "70 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 ' But they ought to think.' 
 
 * Well, Hannah, don't let us quarrel.' 
 
 ' That is what you always say when you are crying 
 and moping. Only yesterday, said I to myself, she's 
 getting over Nancy's death ; and though we may be 
 next door to starving, we sha'n't have crying and wail- 
 ing from morning to night.' 
 
 ' Getting over Nancy's death ! Oh, God, have 
 mercy ! ' And the wretched, childless widow raised 
 her thin hands and streaming eyes to Heaven. ' O 
 God, have mercy ! ' she continued, ' though unworthy 
 am I to ask it.' 
 
 ' Well,' returned the other, ' I think we had better 
 go home such a home as it is : two chairs, and an 
 empty cupboard ; three sticks and a handful 6f cinders ; 
 two cups and a broken teapot; a kettle without a 
 handle; two forks and one knife; that's all, isn't 
 it?' 
 
 ' You forget the bed her gift.' 
 
 ' Well, it was a bed which we were not used to, that 
 made us oversleep ourselves, and so lose a day's work.' 
 
 ' Cruel ! ' murmured the widow ' because we were 
 five minutes beyond the hour. But it does not prove,' 
 she continued, in a firmer voice, ' that the customers 
 know nothing of the pay we get ; because it must be 
 to avoid our seeing them, that they give out the work 
 before eight o'clock.' 
 
 * If it had not been for our coming this afternoon to 
 see if they'd advance us a shilling on next week's work,' 
 muttered the elder woman, ' you'd never have known 
 who bought the shawl I am sure I wish you didn't.' 
 
 ' Oh, Hannah ! ' said the widow Morris, ' be human
 
 THE SHAWL BUYER. 71 
 
 be what you were five years ago, when first I knew 
 you, or, when long after that, you and I and my blessed 
 child, first made one room our home.' 
 
 ' Now, don't preach.' 
 
 ' I would rather ATONE.' 
 
 Very different was the scene that might have been 
 witnessed only half a dozen streets distant from that 
 cold damp step, where the shivering women held their 
 strange discourse. A party of three father, mother, 
 and daughter had just finished dinner; and though 
 twilight was now fast deepening into night, they had 
 not asked for candles, but were content with the cheer- 
 ing rays of a bright fire, which, as almost the first fire 
 of the season, was doubly enjoyable. They were 
 something better than a merry trio they were a 
 happy one ; the clouds of adversity which for three 
 years had darkened the world to them, had lately 
 passed away, and now, with grateful hearts, made bet- 
 ter and wiser, they basked once more in the sunshine 
 of prosperity, and tasted its sweets, as those only who 
 have known suffering can do. Mr. Greville was a 
 merchant, who, from the unprincipled conduct of his 
 partner, had been reduced, three years before, from 
 affluence to a pennyless condition. Yet he had had 
 enough to pay all claimants, so that his honor was 
 unscathed ; and my sketch from life has nothing more 
 to do with the struggles which followed, than to paint 
 their effect upon character. Though there was little 
 probability that he would ever again be a rich man, 
 there was a rational prospect of ease and competence ; 
 and one of the invaluable lessons he and his family had
 
 72 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 learned, was to be more than content with such a lot. 
 His domestic happiness, too, was complete ; for Lucy, 
 his only child, was about to wed one every way worthy 
 of her, and who, having been tried by adversity, had 
 not been found wanting. 
 
 * It certainly is very delightful,' said Lucy, seating 
 herself on a low stool, and leaning her head against 
 her mother's knee, * quite a luxury, once again to have 
 my long mornings to myself, to read, or work, or write, 
 or, best of all, practise myself, instead of counting one, 
 two, three, to dull children, and suffer the torture of 
 wrong notes and faulty time. But all is for the best ; 
 I should never have felt it to be a luxury if I had not 
 fagged as a music teacher in the manner I have done. 
 So do not draw a long face, dear papa ; I am a great 
 deal wiser and better, and consequently happier, for all 
 that has happened. Though, I suppose, I ought not to 
 be happy to-day, for I have had my first quarrel with 
 Edward.' 
 
 * Not a very serious one, I think,' said Mr. Greville, 
 ' or you would not smile about it.' 
 
 ' I hope not,' replied the mother, anxiously, ' for I 
 always warned you to keep offthejirst quarrel.' 
 
 ' Dear mamma,' said Lucy, pressing her hand, ' as 
 if we could really quarrel ! The truth is, now that 
 there is no actual necessity for it, Edward disapproves 
 of my walking out by myself; and though I tried to 
 make him understand the sure protection of a shabby 
 dress and old-fashioned bonnet, he only answered, that 
 he disapproved of them also. Now, though I have not 
 quite given in, we have come to a compromise ; I have 
 promised never to go out alone, unless there be a real
 
 THE SHAWL BUYER. 73 
 
 necessity for my doing so, and he has magnanimously 
 left it to my own conscience to decide whether there be 
 such a necessity or not.' 
 
 ' Edward is quite right, my child.' 
 
 ' Perhaps he is ; but after having taught myself, and 
 not easily, to feel independent, I seem to have lost my 
 liberty. The worst of it is, this point of conscience is 
 more binding than a fixed rule ; for instance, I wished 
 very much to go and see the poor widow Morris, this 
 morning, but I could not prove to my conscience that 
 the visit was one of necessity.'' 
 
 * I want to know more about this poor woman,' said 
 Mrs. Greville. ' I hope, my dear Lucy, you have not 
 been wasting your time, and sympathy, and money, 
 upon an impostor.' 
 
 ' Little have I had of the last to bestow, and my 
 sympathy I could not withhold. That she is not one of 
 those faultless heroines of humble life, which are found, 
 I suspect, only in novels, I admit ; and if we, dear 
 mother, had never known trouble ourselves, I dare say 
 my heart would have hardened against her, ; when I 
 found out she was no such pattern of perfection.' 
 
 ' I can hardly fancy,' said Mr. Greville, smiling, 
 ' that it is my Lucy, not three-and-twenty till Christmas, 
 talking so like a philosopher.' 
 
 ' Better smile than frown, mio padre ; and if you will 
 promise not to call me line when I talk from my heart 
 at home, I give you my word I will discourse glibly in 
 society on the last new novel, the favorite dancer, the 
 elegance of Louis Quatorze furniture, Berlin wool- 
 work, and, when the Exhibitions open, of any or all 
 the pictures to be found in the Catalogues.'
 
 J74 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 * Although you are no artist ?' 
 
 ' Certainly, for these are considered lady-like topics ; 
 and though I start and almost shudder, at hearing the 
 daring and opinionated manner in which the utterly 
 ignorant and inexperienced talk of Art, without their 
 seeming to guess at the subtle genius and tedious 
 labor of the artist, I observe there is a by-law of 
 society, which forbids a lady conversing on many 
 much simpler matters, under the penalty of being 
 called Blue.' 
 
 ' Pray what do you call simpler matters, my little 
 enthusiast ?' 
 
 ' What you call me, papa, a little philosopher for 
 talking about, but which seem to me simple truths, 
 discoverable by almost involuntary observation and 
 reflection. Not, I dare say, that I should ever have ob- 
 served or thought, had I continued the rich merchant's 
 daughter or at least have not observed or thought of 
 the same things. For instance, had I not twice a-week 
 all the spring and summer, left home at eight o'clock, 
 I should not have met each morning the poor widow 
 Morris, and so could not have observed how she grew 
 thinner and thinner, and shabbier and shabbier ; and 
 so could not have thought, when I saw her (after 
 missing her for a fortnight) in tattered black, and 
 weeping bitterly, that she was in some sore affliction ; 
 and thus could never have spoken to her, and learned 
 her history.' 
 
 ' I always thought her very wrong,' said Mrs. Gre- 
 ville, ' to suffer you to enter her wretched hovel, only 
 one day after her child, having died of small-pox, had 
 been taken from it.'
 
 THE SHAWL BUYER. 75 
 
 ' It was wrong, mamma, ' returned Lucy ; ' and when 
 I discovered of what disease the child had died, though 
 it was not till weeks afterwards, I told her frankly 
 almost severely of her error. There was no denial 
 no defence on her part ; but, for the first time, I 
 perceived the marked difference between herself and 
 the woman who shares her wretched room. No change 
 passed over the face of the latter, unless indeed it were 
 not a fancy of mine that she rather smiled than other- 
 wise, as she bent over her work. On the contrary, 
 poor Morris trembled and wept, as if some new feeling 
 were awakened in her heart, or as if a ray of light had 
 streamed upon her dark mind. Since then ' 
 
 Here Miss Greville was interrupted by a servant 
 who entered, saying, ' A poor woman, named Morns, 
 begged leave to speak to her.' 
 
 ' How very strange !' cried Lucy, 'I never gave 
 her our address.' 
 
 ' Let her come in,' said Mr. Greville, and in 
 another minute the unhappy widow stood before them. 
 Paler she was than ever, and either she was grown still 
 thinner, and so looked taller; or it might be her tat- 
 tered mourning hung each day closer and closer, or 
 perhaps some innate consciousness of acting rightly 
 made her figure more erect; and certainly she pos- 
 sessed a composure and dignity of manner which 
 sensibly interested both Mr. and Mrs. Greville. Yet 
 when she began to speak, composure seemed gone, for 
 her words were scarcely articulate. 
 
 ' Sit down,' said Mrs. Greville kindly ; ' you are, I 
 think, the person for whom my daughter feels very 
 much interested ? ' And while the lady spoke, her
 
 76 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 husband poured out a glass of wine for the now trem- 
 bling widow. The word and act of kindness loosened 
 the flood-gates of her soul tears came to her relief 
 and in a few moments she was able to tell her story 
 with some degree of distinctness. 
 
 4 You, my lady,' said Mary Morris, addressing Lucy 
 in the style which the very humble, to lady or no lady, 
 usually adopt 'you have often listened to my com- 
 plainings till the tears started to your bright eyes ; and 
 indeed indeed I would not risk calling them there 
 again, were it not that what I have to tell concerns 
 you.' 
 
 ' What can be the matter ? You alarm me,' in- 
 terrupted Mrs. Greville. 
 
 4 Under heaven the danger is over,' continued the 
 widow solemnly. * I sometimes wonder if I have done 
 right in telling her a story of such misery and abject 
 want as mine. Yet that is past she has learnt how 
 I sank from being a respectable servant, step by step, 
 to the wretched, friendless creature I am. Forgive 
 me for saying friendless,' she proceeded, turning again 
 to Lucy, ' I hall be so again, and feel as if I were 
 already. My marriage ten years ago was against the 
 advice of those who knew better than myself; and 
 when I found out that my husband was worthless, a 
 sort of shame kept me away from all my old associates. 
 But human beings cannot live alone in a great city ; 
 and from shrinking from his acquaintances as at first I 
 did, in time I grew to tolerate them. This was my 
 great error. No wonder that when the hour of need 
 came, my early and true friends were disinclined to 
 aid me. They had lost faith in me ; and though, thank
 
 THE SHAWL BUYER. 77 
 
 Heaven, no one deep sin darkens my conscience, a 
 host of circumstances in which I witnessed wrong in 
 others, with scarcely an opposition on my part, crowd 
 my memory to tell me they were right. I am a good 
 needle-woman, and, when my husband died, might 
 have supported my child and myself in comfort and 
 respectability. But there was no .one whose word 
 would be taken to speak for me, where I might have 
 procured good work ; and wanting daily bread as I did, 
 I gladly accepted the wretched pittance given for what 
 they call slop-work. But perhaps, my ladies, you do 
 not know what that is ? ' 
 
 ' Indeed they do,' said Mr. Greville ; ' are you not 
 aware that several cases of distress have come to light, 
 in which the hard usage of the employers is so ap- 
 parent, that the public attention is drawn to the subject, 
 and we must hope some increase of remuneration will 
 be adopted.' 
 
 * I told her so I told her so,' cried the widow with 
 much feeling. ' I told her, if the gentlefolks only knew 
 how shamefully we were paid, for work as I have 
 done for eighteen hours a day, I could not get more 
 than seven pence, they would see us righted. But 
 she always said no ; that ladies and gentlemen never 
 bought our sort of work and that things they did 
 buy, they would have at the cheapest, without staying 
 to think if it were possible to live by making them. 
 All this hardened my heart which I thought had 
 grown dead to every feeling. But it was not dead to 
 kindness the first that had been shown to me for 
 years. It was a few weeks before my child died, that 
 instead of plain work, I undertook some curious
 
 78 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 knitting in wool according to a certain pattern. How- 
 ever, the work was so much more tedious than I 
 expected, that the lady for whom it was ordered, made 
 some other purchase instead, which induced the shop- 
 keeper to take it on his own hands. And being a 
 winter article, never till this morning was it unpacked 
 and exposed in his window for sale.' 
 
 ' Go on,' said Lucy, for the widow paused ' go 
 on ; I cannot guess what all this leads to.' 
 
 ' Do you remember,' proceeded Mary Morris, in 
 a quivering voice, 'do you remember how you 
 trembled and turned pale, when you first learned my 
 little Nancy had died of small-pox ? We had been 
 too poor to pay for her vaccination and and 
 like many others too idle too thoughtless to take 
 her where it would have been done for nothing. Do 
 you remember how you reproved me for my negli- 
 gence, which, perhaps, I should have heeded less, had 
 you not told me that you had an especial dread of the 
 disease, having lost a dear friend by it, who, like your- 
 self, had never been susceptible of the usual prevent- 
 ative ? Do you remember how you implored me to 
 destroy every article belonging to the child ? Lady 
 lady ' and the widow's voice rose with her emo- 
 tion -' lady, the black and crimson knitted shawl you 
 bought this morning was knitted in that infected cham- 
 ber, and even, from our scarcity of clothing, was 
 wrapped round my dying Nancy ! ' 
 
 ' Horrible horrible ! ' exclaimed Mrs. Greville, 
 starting from her chair. ' Lucy surely, Lucy, you 
 have not worn it ? ' 
 
 ' Be calm, dear mother,' replied Miss Greville,
 
 THE SHAWL BUYER. 79 
 
 with tearful eyes ' I have not even touched it, 
 except with my glove.' 
 
 ' Thank God ! ' murmured Mary Morris. 
 
 ' It was to be sent home this evening,' continued 
 Lucy ; ' I do not think it is yet come.' 
 
 ' And never will,' returned the widow, ' every par- 
 ticle is reduced to ashes.' 
 
 4 My poor Morris,' said Lucy, touched to the heart, 
 4 tell us how you have done this how you could do 
 it.' 
 
 4 You will bear with me, while I tell all my thoughts : ' 
 and the poor woman felt that her audience was no in- 
 different one. ' I know not what it may be, but I do 
 know that a cloud has passed over you, and that, young 
 as you are, you have seen sorrow. It was this that 
 made your words go to my heart, for they came from 
 yours; it was this that made you wise, oh ! so much 
 wiser than many that are old. It was this that taught 
 me to tell you my griefs, and to own my errors ; for 
 the very happy those who have always been happy 
 seldom understand sorrow ; and it is hard to make 
 them comprehend the temptations of poverty. It was 
 you who taught me to feel human affection again for 
 I knew that I loved you when I found I rejoiced that 
 your eye was brighter, your cheek more rosy, your step 
 more light, and your voice more cheerful than before. 
 You were leaning on the arm of a handsome gentleman 
 to-day, when I saw you admire, through the window, 
 that very infected shawl ; and I knew by the turn of 
 his head that he loved you, and I knew that you would 
 not suffer one to look so, if his love were not allowed. 
 I saw you go into the shop ; I saw the shawl taken
 
 80 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 down ; I peered through the door, and knew that you 
 bought it. My heart smote me, but my thoughts were 
 too confused for me to act at the moment nor was 
 my conscience thoroughly awakened till afterwards. 
 I pictured you sick and suffering. I thought even you 
 might die or I thought you might rise changed, dis- 
 figured, with beauty for ever gone and I thought, 
 would the handsome gentleman love you the same as 
 now ? for lady, dear young lady, such things have 
 been ; and the woman who is loved, should cherish 
 her beauty yet more than she who hopes to win a 
 heart. Well, all these thoughts struggling in my mind 
 made me nearly wild. I went to the shopkeeper, and 
 told him the story : he only laughed, until I threatened 
 to relate it to you. I afterwards manoeuvred to see the 
 parcel, which was packed and directed, for as I evi- 
 dently knew you, it never occurred to him that I was 
 ignorant of your address, and so he took no pains to 
 conceal it. On my returning him the four shillings he 
 paid me for the knitting, and the three shillings the 
 material cost, he at last gave it up ; and he will tell 
 you a version of the story, taking, no doubt, some 
 credit to himself, and beg you to receive some other 
 article for the pound at which I saw it was priced.' 
 
 4 Your conduct,' said Mr. Greville, with emotion, 
 * has, in this instance, been so admirable, that it ex- 
 tenuates a hundred faults. But, in the abject poverty 
 you describe, how did you procure the sum of seven 
 shillings ? ' 
 
 'I I pawned the bed the dear young lady sent 
 me yesterday.' 
 
 ' But you shall sleep on it to-night,' cried Mr. Gre-
 
 THE SHAWL BUYER. 81 
 
 ville, drawing a sovereign from his purse, ' with an easy 
 conscience, and, I trust, a lighter heart than usual.' 
 
 'It cannot be,' said the widow, calmly 'though 
 my heart is lighter, and I am happier than I have been 
 for many years. I feel once more that I may dare to 
 hope to meet my little Nancy in Heaven and in this 
 world I am resigned to my fate.' 
 
 ' What is it you mean ? ' 
 
 * I must tell you the whole truth though I did not 
 mean it or you will misjudge me. Hannah Wilkins 
 and I have parted indeed, though we rented the room 
 between us, the things are all hers. The scraps I had 
 were made away with when poor Nancy lay ill.' 
 
 ' I suppose,' said Mr. Greville, with some penetration, 
 'she quarrelled with you for parting with the bed ?' 
 
 The widow bowed her head, and tears again gushed 
 forth. 
 
 ' Whatever present inconvenience may arise to you,' 
 continued Mr. Greville, ' I rejoice at the separation ; for 
 it is evident to me, that your companion has heightened 
 every temptation which has crossed your path, and 
 weakened every good resolution that has arisen in your 
 mind. Above most things, should rich or poor shun 
 such associates. Now that I have learned your story, 
 I recognise you as persons of whom I chanced the 
 other day to hear something. It may be some encour- 
 agement for the future, for you to know that even the 
 poor pittance you have been able to earn, has been in 
 consequence of your better character. Her future is 
 easily seen, she will sink to perfect beggary. But 
 tell me, have you a roof to shelter you ? ' 
 
 ' I thought you would have reproached me,' sobbed 
 6
 
 82 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 the widow ' turned me away from your door. And 
 I am used to anger and upbraidings. I never thought 
 I should tell you I go to-night to ask admission into 
 the workhouse.' 
 
 * No, no,' cried Mr. Greville ' no need for that.' 
 
 4 Suppose,' said Lucy, laying her hand kindly on the 
 widow's arm * suppose you take the sovereign papa 
 has placed before you recover your bed hire a 
 clean little room to yourself and ' 
 
 * We will find some oddments to furnish it,' said 
 Mrs. Greville, continuing the speech her daughter had 
 hesitated finishing. 
 
 ' And you shall make me a shawl, precisely like 
 that I bought to-day,' exclaimed Lucy ; ' and for your 
 labor you shall be fairly paid ; this will be a begin- 
 ning, till we can find more regular work for you.' 
 
 ' I think,' said Mrs. Greville, with a smile that made 
 Lucy blush ' I think we alone shall find plenty of work 
 for you between this and Christmas, for a wedding 
 without new clothes is like is like ' 
 
 ' Christmas without plum-pudding,' said Mr. Gre- 
 ville, impatient for a simile. 
 
 ' Summer without flowers,' cried his more poetical 
 wife. 
 
 The widow was too happy for aught save tears, and 
 blessings on her benefactors. 
 
 ' I wonder,' murmured Mr. Greville, after a long 
 pause 'I wonder if, when we cannot be roused to 
 humanity by the knowledge of suffering, it is decreed 
 that we must be frightened into it in self-defence ? 
 Little he knows, I fear, of the human heart, who has 
 never been tempted ! '
 
 THE SHAWL BUYER. 83 
 
 Should this sketch from real life meet the eye of a 
 child of toil, of want, of penury, not in vain will it 
 have been committed to paper, if a sentence therein 
 strengthens one good resolve, or loosens one strong 
 chain of habit that binds to evil thoughts or bad exam- 
 ple. Not in vain, if it makes him understand that the 
 rich cannot relieve the want they do not know. And, 
 oh ! not in vain, if it makes some favorite of fortune 
 turn with pitying heart and open hand to the toil-worn 
 and starving. Not too ambitious for a prayer is it, 
 that my simple story may be one of the many grains 
 in the heavy balance, to prompt our country's Sages 
 and Senators, to plan wisely for their humble, op- 
 pressed, but industrious countrywomen, whose ill- 
 repaid, life-wearing toil, has lately been brought to 
 their notice.
 
 THE BLACK SHEEP OF THE FAMILY. 
 
 A STORY IN SIX CHAPTERS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 ARE not Houses strangely typical of their Inhab- 
 itants, or, is it that when we know both, we grow to 
 identify them one with the other ? It may sometimes 
 be so ; yet certainly there was a natural harmony 
 between Lauder Manor House and the family which 
 occupied it a very few years ago. It was a substantial 
 red-brick pile, not purely in the Elizabethan style, yet 
 reminding a stranger of it, and to the impressible ob- 
 server suggestive of staid propriety, of monotonous 
 routine, and of a hospitality more likely to be measured 
 and precise, than impulsive and genial. It was a noble 
 building, nevertheless ; though so hidden, as if with a 
 proud reserve, by old solemn trees, that only when 
 winter had bared their branches, could the house at all 
 be seen, from even the distance of a few hundred yards. 
 The grounds were extensive, and, to a certain degree, 
 well cultivated ; but the head gardener was old, and 
 old-fashioned, and no one ever thought of coming to 
 Lady Macdonald for a choice flower or early fruit. 
 
 There was a stately portico to Lauder House, which
 
 THE BLACK SHEEP OF THE FAMILY. 85 
 
 ed into a large square hall, tesselated with black and 
 white marble. One side of the hall was nearly oc- 
 cupied by a chamber organ, opposite to which stretched 
 a wide fire-grate, which had been artificially contracted 
 by an iron back and false sides ; while the tall mantel- 
 piece was surmounted by various showy heraldic em- 
 blazonments. But what visitors chiefly noticed, and 
 what faced them on their entrance, was a glazed press, 
 in which rested the faded, tarnished, moth-eaten coat 
 of a general officer, together with his sword and gloves. 
 The reception rooms all on the ground-floor were 
 spacious, but not very lofty, and, though furnished in 
 a substantial and even costly manner, were singularly 
 devoid of modern adornments. For nearly forty years 
 the style of that mansion had remained unchanged ; 
 and yet there was nothing about expressive of decay. 
 Chintz had been replaced by chintz, once, twice, thrice, 
 of a similar pattern to that which Lady Macdonald had 
 esteemed in her bridal days. Picture and looking-glass 
 frames had been re-gilt, but never changed, and the 
 vulture-like bird that surmounted a convex mirror, and 
 held in its beak a necklace of glass, seemed as brightly 
 burnished in 184-, as it could have been when the 
 century was new. At least there was no anachronism 
 in the furniture ; the sideboard beneath the mirror was 
 spindle-legged ; the dining-table before it was long and 
 narrow ; the heavy moreen curtains were edged with 
 black velvet; and the leathern chairs were of that 
 awkward shape common before the revival of high 
 backs. 
 
 Neither did the drawing-room chintz cover lounging 
 fauteuils or comfortable ottomans. True, there were
 
 86 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 a couple of large bed-like sofas, with straggling sofa- 
 tables drawn before them, but Rip, the old Blenheim 
 spaniel, had far more comfort of the cushions than 
 any one else. At any rate, Lady Macdonald was 
 consistent; and as she expected starched propriety 
 from others, she did not indulge in lounging habits 
 herself. 
 
 Three sides of the house were bleak-looking and 
 bare, but the south wall which, by the way, looked 
 only towards the kitchen garden was almost covered 
 with jasmines and China roses ; the branches of which 
 peeped into the windows of a room that was still called 
 a nursery, although its chief occupant, the grand- 
 daughter of Lady Macdonald, was already sixteen, and 
 womanly for her years. At the time to which I allude, 
 she was said to be finishing her education under a 
 German governess. 
 
 But before I speak of Agnes, I must go back, and 
 trace the outlines of a life, that in its marked, unbend- 
 ing course, had exercised a strange influncee over 
 the destiny of others. Lady Macdonald, nee Margaret 
 Ford, was in right of her mother an heiress, and 
 endowed by nature with no ordinary share of self- 
 possession and self-esteem ; the education bestowed on 
 her, with perpetual reference to her future position, had 
 fostered and developed her innate qualities, until pride 
 became her dominant characteristic. But it was a 
 pride allied to excellent abilities and strict integrity - 
 When she was eighteen, her father shocked and of 
 fended her for from sheer force of character she 
 was already the one to receive appeals, not offer them 
 by making a second marriage, choosing a wife who
 
 THE BLACK SHEEP OF THE FAMILY. 87 
 
 had youth and beauty, but was of poor and obscure 
 family. 
 
 The young wife must have quailed at the haughty 
 reception given by her step-daughter ; and yet it was 
 a sort of haughtiness that had in it nothing tangible 
 enough to justify resentment. Perhaps her father's 
 marriage hastened a decision which she never found 
 occasion to repent. From many suitors of high degree, 
 she chose an elderly Peninsular officer, of ancient 
 Scottish lineage, who had won green laurels to cover 
 his scars, had obtained ftiore honor than gold, and had 
 refused a Baronetcy until it was accompanied by a 
 Military order of Knighthood. 
 
 To do her justice, the heiress was neither avaricious 
 nor purse-proud ; she made a handsome life-settlement 
 on her father, notwithstanding his mesalliance ; and 
 notwithstanding her wealth, her youth, her beauty, and 
 her own ' sixteen quarterings,' she thought herself en- 
 nobled in becoming the wife of General Sir Andrew 
 Macdonald. Perhaps it was only such a husband that 
 she could ever honestly have promised to obey. But 
 he had commanded men, and led them on to great 
 deeds ; and, without a sacrifice, she could bend her 
 spirit to his. Had she been a vain woman, she would 
 doubtless have proved a heedless, selfish, self-willed 
 wife, striving to rule her middle-aged lord ; but she was 
 a proud one, and a part of her pride was to be meek, 
 loving, gentle, and obedient to him. They were ad- 
 mirably mated, and the few years of their wedded life 
 were supremely happy. 
 
 Meanwhile two daughters were born to her father, 
 and she herself became the mother of an only son.
 
 88 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 Years passed on ; and in Life's kaleidoscope changes, 
 Death was busy. First Sir Andrew, whose constitution 
 had never thoroughly recovered the trials of military 
 service, passed to the tomb, leaving his young wife sole 
 guardian of their son. I do not pause to tell of the 
 widow's grief. Lady Macdonald had deep affections 
 beneath her pride, though they were less demonstrative 
 in gladness than capable of being probed by pain. 
 Next faded and died her father's wife ; and Mr. Ford, 
 now an old man, did not long survive the breaking up 
 of his domestic life ; the shadow that fell where a 
 cheerful presence had been, seemed always beckoning 
 him to follow. Mary Ford was fifteen, and Hester 
 thirteen, when they were orphaned thrown on the 
 charity of their wealthy half-sister. Lady Macdonald 
 was generous as well as just ; and when people do a 
 kindness, it is strange indeed if they must not do it in 
 their own way. And yet the heart may rebel at what 
 the reason approves ! 
 
 Old enough to be their mother, she took at once the 
 tone of authority as well as of protection ; but never 
 knew how hard to their young natures was the disci- 
 pline she enforced. Idolized by their parents, caressed, 
 indulged by them almost to folly, they had been what 
 are called spoiled children ; but I believe girls will 
 stand a very great deal of the sort of spoiling they had 
 experienced without much detriment. But now, and 
 even in the early days of their heart-sorrow, were to be 
 assumed the starched manners, and endured the hard 
 study beneath a rigid governess of fifty, whose sensi- 
 bility had been dried up by the chill atmosphere of her 
 profession, which, after thirty years, had left her the
 
 THE BLACK SHEEP OF THE FAMILY. 89 
 
 skilled teacher of facts, and nothing more. Her men- 
 tal world must have been a vast tomb, where the dry 
 bones of knowledge stalked with a sort of galvanic life. 
 Cold companion ; stern teacher for children who were 
 growing fast into true women ; pining for tenderness, 
 though they knew not how to name their want. 
 
 Mary at seventeen eloped with an old playmate, 
 hardly three years her senior. And, through long 
 years unforgiven, was looked on as ' The Black Sheep 
 of the Family.' Hester, not without a history, was, in 
 184-, the maiden lady of a certain age. 
 
 The young Sir Andrew was married at twenty to a 
 wife of his mother's choosing. He happened to like 
 the young lady very well, and the year of their married 
 life was a peaceful one. She died in presenting him 
 with a daughter ; and he who, notwithstanding his 
 pedigree, was but a common-place specimen of the 
 country gentleman, was killed at three-and-twenty by 
 an accident while deer-stalking. 
 
 Again was Lady Macdonald left the guardian of a 
 child the little Agnes. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE snow lay deep, but the frost bound it together, 
 and made for the time being a firm pavement of its 
 treacherous masses. A little more wind, and the 
 weather would have been Siberian ; as it was, the air 
 seemed at rest, and the bare boughs were motionless,
 
 90 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 save when a famishing bird swayed some light twig. 
 The day was light for Christmas-time in England, 
 although the sun had not once peeped from its whitish 
 hood of clouds. In short, it was a true winter's day. 
 
 Hester Ford, well clad in velvet and fur, was evi- 
 dently prepared for walking or riding, yet lingered, 
 leaning beside the tall chimney-piece in the chintz 
 drawing-room, as if she had still something to say to 
 her sister. A large Indian screen was drawn in a 
 semicircle towards the fire, and seemed to portion off 
 a lesser chamber within the room. Lady Macdonald, 
 on the opposite side of the fire, was plying her needle 
 thanks to her spectacles making up coarse flan- 
 nel for poor people. Her words, fortunately, led to the 
 topic which her companion at once hesitated, yet 
 longed, to approach. 
 
 ' My dear,' she exclaimed good-humoredly, ' you 
 were very idle yesterday, and now you are leaving me 
 your share of hemming and sewing to complete.' 
 
 When in her most affable mood, lady Macdonald 
 always called her younger sister ' my dear.' 
 
 4 1 plead guilty,' replied Hester, ' but, sister, some 
 other time I will make up for my negligence, and work 
 most diligently for you. To-day O Margaret ! let 
 me tell you something that has happened.' 
 
 A shade of displeasure passed over the elder lady's 
 countenance, and she replied in an altered tone, yet 
 without looking up from her employment ' There is 
 but one subject, I believe, between us, which ever 
 needs a croaking note of preparation ; and I have 
 observed you are fond of introducing it at Christmas 
 time.'
 
 THE BLACK SHEEP OF THE FAMILY. 91 
 
 * It is true ; because the season, with all its joy and 
 holiness, is a sad anniversary ; because it vividly 
 recalls the fault of an inexperienced girl, and because 
 the outcast herself has more than once chosen it for 
 her vain attempts at reconciliation.' 
 
 ' I am to understand, then, that you are in corres- 
 pondence with your sister,' returned Lady Macdonald, 
 still stitching on in her orderly manner; ' you know 
 that my wish is never to hear her name ; but if a 
 stranger sent me a message, I must listen to it. Does 
 she want money ? ' and as she spoke she glanced at a 
 cheque-book, which chanced to lie open on the table. 
 
 ' No : the early trials, the bitter sorrows of that 
 worst poverty, the poverty of the well-born and well- 
 bred, are over ; her husband's talents appear to be 
 duly recognised ; fame brings gold in its train, and 
 poor Mary feels that only your forgiveness is necessary 
 to herhappiness.' 
 
 ' She must have learned by this time to do very well 
 without it ; and the triumph of her present prosperity 
 cannot incline her very much to repentance.' 
 
 ' It may be, sister, that she looks upon her sorrows 
 and disappointments and they have been many 
 as sufficient punishment for her error ; but it is since 
 she has seen her own daughters growing towards 
 womanhood, that she has fully recognised the wrong 
 she did you, has thoroughly comprehended your gen- 
 erosity, and the earnest manner in which you strove to 
 perform a mother's part to both of us.' 
 
 ' I endeavored to do what I thought right, but I have 
 never attached any particular merit to the performance 
 of a duty.'
 
 92 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 * I know that full well. Yet, Margaret, if you could 
 make allowances for weaker natures than your own 
 for temptation youth. Poor Mary ! it is only recon- 
 ciliation that she asks if ' 
 
 ' I cannot,' said Lady Macdonald, not quite unmoved, 
 though she spoke without resting from her work. ' Yet 
 do not fancy that I am dragging the burthen of an ani- 
 mosity with me towards the grave. I would not injure 
 her, and perhaps, under other circumstances, it might 
 have been different. I cannot tell but I could not look 
 little Agnes in the face if I had forgiven my sister her 
 fault. I wonder at you, Hester, interceding you who, 
 in the hour of your girlish temptation, behaved so differ- 
 ently.' 
 
 ' Life is a strange riddle,' said Hester with evident 
 bitterness, the tears standing in her still fine eyes. ' I 
 sometimes think that none of us are born to happiness or 
 content. If I tell you what I never yet have owned 
 if I aver that with all your generosity, the ease, luxury, 
 affluence I have enjoyed, there have been hours when 
 I have repented of that which you esteem my chief 
 merit when I would have given every joy on earth 
 to recall the true heart I banished if ' 
 
 ' Hush hush ! ' said Lady Macdonald, dropping 
 her work, at last, and pressing her hands to her ears 
 as if to crush out the sound, * let me not hear such 
 words.' 
 
 4 Forgive forget them ! ' exclaimed Hester, with 
 quick remorse ; 4 they were words of folly and insanity, 
 wrung from my distress. My heart aches for poor 
 Mary's disappointment, and again must I be the in- 
 strument of it.'
 
 THE BLACK SHEEP OF THE FAMILY. 93 
 
 4 You are writing to your sister, then, I presume ? ' 
 
 * I am going to see her, Margaret to meet her by 
 appointment at D . She tells me she has some- 
 thing urgent to communicate, but to relieve any anxiety 
 such words might occasion, she hints that she has no 
 new or personal distress to relate ; and that, on the 
 contrary, her husband is prospering at last beyond their 
 highest ambition. Possibly you saw his knighthood 
 mentioned in the newspapers ? ' added Hester, with 
 some hesitation. 
 
 ' I did. A painter of pictures knighted ! ' And Lady 
 Macdonald shrugged her shoulders with contemptuous 
 pity for the degeneracy of the age ; after a moment 
 
 she continued, 'When are you going? D is six 
 
 miles distant have you ordered the carriage ? ' 
 
 4 1 have and I have not. I begged that the horses 
 might be put to, but not brought round without further 
 orders.' 
 
 4 Why was this, Hester ? You ought to know that I 
 am always best pleased when I see that you act with- 
 out control. You know that you are always mistress 
 of one carriage ; this was part of my bond when you 
 gave up Mr. Gerald Wentmore, and 1 always wish to 
 pay my debts.' 
 
 4 Yet,' said Hester, ' I could not take your carriage 
 on such a mission without your sanction. If ' 
 
 ' Go, go I wish to avoid scenes ! ' and Lady Mac- 
 donald rang the bell as she spoke. 
 
 In the momentary silence which ensued, the door 
 behind the screen certainly opened and closed ; then 
 opened again, so that it was another minute before the 
 servant appeared.
 
 94 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 ' The carriage for Miss Ford, directly,' said Lady 
 Macdonald, in her stateliest tone. 
 
 ' Margaret ! ' sobbed Hester, stretching out both her 
 hands, and taking one of her sister's between her own, 
 where passively it rested ' Margaret, kiss me before 
 I go ; I love you better I am more grateful than you 
 think.' 
 
 Lady Macdonald stooped her tall figure to kiss her 
 sister's cheek, and something like a vital movement 
 crept through the passive hand, and responded to 
 Margaret's pressure. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 IF not precisely the ' lest inn's lest room,' it was, at 
 all events, a comfortable apartment in which the long 
 separated sisters met making allowance, of course, 
 for that certain baldness and bareness, and unhome 
 look, from which we doubt much if there is an hotel in 
 Europe that is thoroughly free. Perhaps a long resi- 
 dence in one may warm and shapen the place into a 
 home fashion ; but generally a mental shivering fit has 
 to be encountered at the threshold. However, Lady 
 Shafton lady in right of her husband, Sir William's, 
 knighthood had drawn the sofa and an easy chair 
 near the blazing fire, had spied and dragged from its 
 dark corner a faded footstool, had arranged the blinds 
 to the pleasantest light, and had ordered a delicate, 
 well-chosen luncheon to be ready at the appointed
 
 THE BLACK SHEEP OF THE FAMILY. 95 
 
 hour. A poet is said to be ' born,' not ' made,' and so, 
 I am sure, is a hostess, wbo, to cbarm by her spiriting, 
 must have a large warm heart, a ready wit, and a 
 thoughtful and thoroughly unselfish nature. Lady 
 Shafton was a born hostess. In her husband's strug- 
 gling days, she had made the home of poverty gra- 
 cious, and frugal fare sometimes a banquet to their few 
 but sincere friends, by the genial welcome she so nat- 
 urally displayed : in dawning prosperity, her gift had 
 but developed with opportunity ; and now, even in her 
 hired apartment, it was her nature to make glad pre- 
 paration for the most welcome of guests. She saw the 
 carriage from the window, and recognised her sister's 
 unchanged liveries ; but the wearers were strange to 
 her Lady Macdonald not being remarkable for 
 keeping her servants for any very lengthened term. 
 
 Tearful was the meeting, and for a time nearly 
 speechless. The self-appointed hostess drew Hester 
 to the easy chair she loosened her bonnet, she drew 
 off her mantle, she kissed her twenty times, and then 
 their tears dried away into smiles and gladness ; and, 
 after a little while, they sat hand in hand, and dis- 
 coursed, without ecstasies, like rational creatures. 
 
 Hester's last visit to her sister had been, years 
 before, in obscure London lodgings ; but there was 
 something that legibly enough marked the difference 
 between the then and now. In the first place, Lady 
 Shafton was much better dressed than Hester had ever 
 seen her; and dress makes more difference to looks 
 than people think they ought to allow, very espe- 
 cially after what some one calls ' the sharp corner of 
 thirty-five' is turned. Then she was a little, just a
 
 96 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 little, stouter ; and that fact also was rather an advan- 
 tage to her seconde jeunesse. Certain lines of care, 
 which had given a half-sad, half-thoughtful expression 
 to her countenance, seemed almost to have passed 
 away, and the fine eye with the Fords a family fea- 
 ture, and which lenient time generally touches the last 
 seemed more radiant than ever. 
 
 * How good of you to come here ! ' exclaimed Hes- 
 ter, after half an hour's chat had exhausted the imme- 
 diate topic of Lady Macdonald's obduracy, ' and to 
 come alone this long way.' 
 
 ' Nay, Edward, your godson, is my escort. He 
 
 could not come to D without seeing the Cathedral, 
 
 but he will be back to luncheon. You will not know 
 him, I expect five feet ten and a half, and barely 
 nineteen : quite manly enough to take care of his little 
 mama, as he very impertinently calls me.' 
 
 ' How happy your children must be ! ' mused Hes- 
 ter, with a smile, and her musing, after a moment, was 
 spoken. 
 
 ' I hope they are. People tell me they are spoilt, 
 and I know what is meant by that misapplied word ; 
 but I call children more " spoilt " when they are made 
 false and frightened by severity, than ever they were 
 by kindness. However, this reminds me that I want 
 to catechise you, before Edward returns, and before I 
 tell you what circumstances induced me to journey 
 seventy miles this mid-winter weather, besides the 
 pleasure and delight of meeting you.' 
 
 ' Catechise me ? ' asked Hester, with evident sur- 
 prise. 
 
 ' Yes, concerning our sister's grand-daughter, our
 
 THE BLACK SHEEP OF THE FAMILY. 97 
 
 grand-niece, Agnes Macdonald, or rather of one who 
 is about her; tell me of her governess, what is she 
 like ? ' 
 
 ' Like ! like no one I could name. But she is a 
 clever, accomplished woman ; a German by birth, she 
 says, though I sometimes doubt it, speaking three or 
 four languages, and although, to own the truth, she and 
 I have never been great friends, she has always kept 
 herself in high favor with Margaret.' 
 
 ' How, and why, do you think ? ' 
 
 ' I hardly like to say it yet I fear partly by a sys- 
 tem of the most delicate and adroit flattery, that never 
 betrays itself into coarse and palpable adulation ; and 
 partly because Margaret thinks it so great a privilege 
 to have a lady of ancient lineage about Agnes.' 
 
 * What does she call herself? ' 
 
 ' The Baroness Von Bernheim, belonging to the 
 family of Hesse something, and who, for a salary of 
 two hundred a year, and " high consideration," con- 
 descends to her situation. Her father, who had a 
 string of titles, was colonel, she says, among the 
 Black Brunswickers at Waterloo, and you know that 
 enmity to Napoleon is always a key to Margaret's 
 sympathies.' 
 
 Lady Shafton nodded her head twice or thrice with 
 a grave smile, as if confirmed in her opinion, whatever 
 that might be ; and drawing a memorandum-book from 
 her pocket, she referred to it, continuing, 'Now tell 
 me her probable age and personal appearance.' 
 
 ' She does not look above thirty, but if her father 
 fell at Waterloo, she must be considerably rnbre. She 
 is of the medium height, tolerably well looking, yet 
 7
 
 98 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 rather plebeian, nevertheless, if one dare say it of so 
 grand a lady.' 
 
 * It is generally a powerful motive which induces a 
 woman to add half a dozen years to her apparent age,' 
 said Lady Shafton. 
 
 ' My dearest Mary, what can you mean ? ' 
 
 ' That my notes say aged twenty-nine.' 
 
 ' You terrify me, dear Mary, and fill my mind with 
 vague suspicions ! ' 
 
 ' One more question. Has she white, well-shaped 
 hands, or anything remarkable about them ? ' 
 
 ' Certainly a coarse hand ; besides, she has partly 
 lost the use of her left hand, from an accident when a 
 child, which prevents her playing on any instrument, 
 although she professes to understand music and teach 
 it.' 
 
 ' Conclusive,' exclaimed Lady Shafton, putting the 
 note-book into her sister's hand. ' The description, 
 though gathered piecemeal, is sufficiently authentic. 
 Her hand was disabled a few years ago by a stab re- 
 ceived in a quarrel and scuffle among her confederates, 
 swindlers and gamblers. She is an arch-impostor, no 
 more a Baroness than you or I ; clever she may be, 
 though hardly accomplished, for she passed some years 
 of her life as waiting-maid, travelling with her mis- 
 tress, and so, perhaps, improved her knowledge of 
 languages. How could Margaret have been the dupe 
 of such a person ? ' 
 
 ' Easily,' replied Hester, ' for I never suspected 
 such a revelation as this. And I do visit occasionally 
 do correspond with a few friends do know some- 
 thing of the world beyond the gates of Lauder House.
 
 THE BLACK SHEEP OF THE FAMILY. 99 
 
 Not so Lady Macdonald, who lives only in the mem- 
 ory of her own past life, and in the future of her 
 darling Agnes. She may readily have been imposed 
 on by forged credentials.' 
 
 ' Tell me what sort of a girl is Agnes ? ' 
 ' Affectionate and tender-hearted, and, I fear, even 
 more impulsive than we were in our girlish days, 
 though awed into seeming coldness and apathy in her 
 grandmother's presence. With excellent abilities, and 
 a very fair share of beauty, she ought to realize all 
 Margaret's hopes. But there is something dreadful in 
 this woman having been her teacher her associate 
 for six months ; and she is so attached to " her dear 
 baroness," her " darling governess," as I hear her 
 called sometimes. But, Mary, how came you to know 
 such a history ? ' 
 
 ' Briefly, thus : Painters have strange experiences. 
 A splendidly handsome, but most worthless young man 
 has sat as model to my husband for more than one of 
 his pictures. Willy wanted him again latterly, made 
 inquiries at his residence, found a substitute in one of 
 his some time associates, who, in pique at fancied neg- 
 lect, babbled about him and his concerns, mentioning 
 his sister, who was governess to a youthful heiress, and 
 who had gained such influence with the grandmother, 
 that she ruled the family, even hinting that there were 
 plots weaving for him to marry the pupil. This idea 
 is of course, too ridiculous ; but there were so many 
 circumstances that coincided with those of Margaret 
 and her grand-daughter, that I decided on seeing you 
 without delay. Our sister may never relent, and for- 
 give my early fault ; but it will ever be to me a sweet
 
 100 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 consolation to have done her this service.' As Lady 
 Shafton spoke, her voice trembled with emotion, but 
 she proceeded : 'If, Hester, it will be painful to her to 
 be obliged by me, spare her the humiliation ; only give 
 her notice of the impostor. Let her question this 
 worthless woman, and dismiss her. I have two dear 
 daughters of my own, and I could not rest with the 
 thought of the poor orphaned, though to me unknown, 
 Agnes, being exposed to a vile woman's machinations. 
 But here comes Edward,' she continued, struggling 
 with her feelings ; 'though I wished to discuss this sub- 
 ject with you alone, he is quite cognizant of it.' 
 
 Edward Shafton had been the last twelve months at 
 one of the Universities, or probably his father would 
 not have sought beyond his own roof for a youthful 
 model. Tall and finely formed, graceful with a natu- 
 ral grace, improved by good breeding, but which is in 
 itself an expression of the mind ; with deep blue eyes, 
 that half his friends thought black ; rich, soft, dark 
 hair, and what one instinctively calls ' patrician ' fea- 
 tures, he was really more of a pattern hero than I like 
 by choice to portray. 
 
 ' And this is Aunt Hester ! ' said he, in a rich, full 
 voice, that had frankness and feeling in every tone ; 
 and loosening his great coat, and throwing down his hat 
 and stick as he spoke, ' Oh, how little changed since I 
 sat on your knee, while you told me stories ! Won't 
 you give me as hearty kisses now as you did years 
 ago ? ' he continued, smiling and stooping to salute 
 her ; and then, as both ladies were standing on the 
 hearth-rug, he very quietly passed an arm round the 
 waist of each with a gesture that had something of
 
 THE BLACK SHEEP OF THE FAMILY. 101 
 
 protection amid its boyish wilfulness. And thus they 
 chatted for a full ten minutes about the beauties of the 
 Cathedral, and the false Baroness, and on some other 
 topics, till the luncheon-dinner was served, Edward 
 saying, incidentally, ' Mamma, dear, the express train 
 we must go by leaves at six o'clock.' 
 
 ' Hester, you will stay with us till the last,' exclaimed 
 Lady Shafton entreatingly. 
 
 ' Oh, certainly.' And so she did. 
 
 When Hester Ford returned to Lauder House, she 
 saw the women-servants in tears, the men in strange 
 confusion ; and making her way to her sister's side, 
 with wild, blind fear, found lady Macdonald in a stony 
 agony. 
 
 There stood the matron in the middle of the room, 
 with her cap fallen off, and her long grey hair stream- 
 ing over her shoulders. Her eyes seemed glazed ; 
 her face was ashy pale; her lips moved, but uttered 
 no sound ; and when Hester rushed to her side, a 
 gurgling noise alone betrayed her effort to speak, as 
 she pointed with a stiffened finger to an open letter on 
 the ground. 
 
 The writing was in the girlish hand of Agnes, and 
 announced that she had fled. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 NOTWITHSTANDING the general good management 
 of our railways, there is always more or less helter- 
 skelter when one starts from a station instead of a ter-
 
 lUZ ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 minus. It is no use being told, as the train approaches, 
 *hat there is no hurry : the engine puffing off its steam 
 when it stops as if every moment's delay were positive 
 torture to its iron frame, says obstinately the contrary ; 
 and right few passengers are lethargic enough to take 
 their seats in a perfectly calm and leisurely manner. 
 Lady Shafton and her son, however, being free from 
 the traveller's trouble, luggage, were a little less 
 hurried than the general throng which crowded the 
 
 platform at D , and took time to peep into two 
 
 or three carriages before they made their selection. 
 The one into which at last they stepped, would have 
 been wholly unoccupied, save that a heap of travelling 
 apparel, surmounted by a travelling cap, was cosily 
 gathered in one of the corner seats, and suggested that 
 probably a human being was entombed beneath that 
 mountain of broadcloth. Hardly were they seated, 
 when the remaining vacant places were appropriated 
 by two ladies an'd a young man. 
 
 Off dashed the train, and soon away from the glare 
 of the station's gas-lights, the twinkle of the little lamp 
 in the roof of the carriage was duly estimated. Lady 
 Shafton soon perceived that the good-natured face of a 
 man about forty years of age peered from beneath the 
 travelling cap ; but when she turned to the new comers, 
 she remarked that the younger lady, who was evidently 
 an object of great solicitude to her companions, kept 
 her veil down, although its folds were not thick enough 
 to conceal that she was stirred by some strong emotion. 
 More than once her handkerchief was raised to her 
 eyes, and Lady Shafton felt certain that she was 
 weeping.
 
 THE BLACK SHEEP OF THE FAMILY. 103 
 
 Nor was Edward Shafton unobservant of their com- 
 panions : a truth which his mother, whose sympathy 
 found a meaning in his every glance and movement, 
 very soon perceived. Presently he took a card from 
 his pocket, and writing a few words thereon with a 
 pencil, handed it to her. She read as follows : 
 
 ' There can be no doubt about him. Surely you 
 recognise my father's " Craven Knight" and " Lucifer 
 expelled." But who are they 1 Observe what double 
 duty my neighbor makes her right hand do. And who 
 can the young lady be, if not my cousin Agnes ? Be 
 calm, dearest little mamma, whatever you may suspect 
 or we discover. He does not remember me the least, 
 I am sure, and very likely he never saw you.' 
 
 There was a long look exchanged between mother 
 and son, a look which was hardly less expressive to 
 each other than words might have been ; though none 
 of their companions at all divined the tremor, the 
 icy chill, and the fever flush which passed alternately 
 through Lady Shafton's frame, before she was able to 
 recover her firmness and presence of mind. Yet a 
 world of counsel, comfort, help, protection came to 
 her on the wings of those three words, ' dearest little 
 mamma ! ' What need she fear, what could she not 
 dare, with her brave boy beside her ? 
 
 At the first plausible opportunity Lady Shafton 
 offered her vinaigrette to the young lady, a civility 
 which was accepted, and led the way one personage 
 of the party being so very ready to general con- 
 versation. 
 
 It has often been remarked that rogues, in the exer- 
 cise of their vocation, generally exhibit more ingenuity,
 
 104 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 and perform more arduous tasks, than might have been 
 necessary in pursuing a straight-forward, honest ca- 
 reer; in like manner the falsehoods and subterfuges of 
 two of the travellers exhibited more invention in half 
 an hour, than good quiet people might have needed in 
 a lifetime. The pretended Baroness for it is best 
 at once to acknowledge that Lady Shafton's and her 
 son's suspicions were correct related how her young 
 friend was in great distress of mind, being sent for to 
 the death-bed of a near and dear relative ; while the 
 handsome, mustachioed, but not quite gentlemanly- 
 looking young man, echoed her words, and added 
 some insufferable slip-slop compliment about their 
 young companion's tender heart and feeling nature. 
 
 It was at this moment the young girl raised her veil, 
 perhaps inadvertently, perhaps because some spring of 
 her nature compelled her to face, not cower beneath, 
 the hail of falsehood that was showered around her. 
 Lady Shafton saw and recognised the ' Ford eye,' as it 
 flashed from the pale, suffering face of Agnes Mac- 
 donald, as if in resentment of her own weakness, that 
 had brought upon her these insults ; but Lady Shafton 
 had too much at stake to be hasty or premature in the 
 eclair cissement. 
 
 ' Such journeys,' she observed, as if in credence 
 of the woman's words, ' leave an indelible impression 
 on the mind. Strange to say, this road is full of 
 distressing associations to myself; for though the cir- 
 cumstances which occasioned them occurred before 
 the railroad was formed, the name of more than one 
 station to-night has brought back a host of recollec- 
 tions.'
 
 THE BLACK SHEEP OF THE FAMILY. 105 
 
 The ' Baroness,' who no doubt expected a story 
 savoring of funeral plumes and a death-bed summons, 
 expressed herself anxious on the subject, and Lady 
 Shafton continued : 
 
 ' Twenty years ago, a young girl, hardly older, I 
 should think, than this young lady, fled from the neigh- 
 borhood of D ; fled from her home, from the 
 
 protection of her nearest relative, to wed without the 
 consent of one to whom she owed duty and gratitude.' 
 
 ' And perhaps the marriage turned out very happily,' 
 answered the other in a quick tone. ' Only to-day I 
 heard an old maid regretting that she had not run off 
 with her lover.' 
 
 ' The marriage to which I allude,' continued Lady 
 Shafton, ' cannot be said to have turned out ill, because 
 the one fault of a life is something different from gen- 
 eral depravity, and because the young lover was the 
 soul of truth and honor, and because the love of both 
 was genuine, young heart-love ; and yet I know that 
 the long trials of poverty and disappointed ambition 
 perilled this love, jeopardized it from time to time to 
 the very brink of extinction, as a lamp dwindles for 
 need of oil. Even in their latter happier days, 
 when love has burned brightly, there has ever sat a 
 weight of remorse at that girl's heart ; remorse for 
 kindness and protection ill requited, remorse for her 
 unmaidenly act, remorse that sometimes took a 
 phantom shape, and seemed to stand before her young 
 daughters, and tell her she could be no guide and 
 teacher to them. 1 knew that girl I knew that wife 
 intimately ; her flight took place in the Christmas 
 week. You cannot wonder that the season and the 
 place recalled it.'
 
 10G ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 The gentleman in the travelling cap had roused him- 
 self to listen to this story ; but they to whom it was 
 addressed would have interrupted it, had they known 
 how, without betraying themselves. At last the 
 'Baroness' observed, ' Poverty is a sad thing under 
 any circumstances ; and perhaps if your friend had 
 inherited a fortune, her troubles would have been 
 fewer.' 
 
 ' Nay, in one sense, her want of fortune was a bless- 
 ing. It convinced her, at least, that her lover's vows 
 were sincere, that it was herself he loved. Now, I 
 hold that an heiress, if endowed with common sense, 
 must distrust any lover who would urge her to a clan- 
 destine step, even to the secret encouragement of his 
 addresses or an implied engagement.' 
 
 It was clear that the ' Baroness' had not bettered her 
 position, especially as poor. Agnes shook with emotion, 
 and the vinaigrette was again in request. The two 
 confederates spoke curtly and quickly a few words in 
 what seemed a patois of French ; and Lady Shafton 
 gathered that they were debating if they should quit 
 the carriage at the next opportunity ; but finally, as 
 they would reach London now in half an hour, it was 
 agreed they should go on. 
 
 The last station passed, the last pause before the 
 final one, and the train was again in rapid motion. The 
 time for action was come, and, with a heart beating so 
 fast and thick, she seemed to hear it, Lady Shafton 
 turned to the silent gentleman in the corner and spoke 
 thus : 
 
 * If, Sir, you are made witness to a painful scene, 
 pardon me ; but, I implore you, stand by the right.'
 
 THE BLACK SHEEP OF THE FAMILY. 107 
 
 Then, turning quickly to the half-fainting girl, she 
 passed an arm round her waist, and speaking rapidly, 
 said : 
 
 ' Agnes Macdonald dear girl, poor victim, be 
 saved while you may. I am your aunt Mary let 
 me prove my identity see the ring my sister Hester 
 has worn for years ; you must know it : we exchanged 
 rings to-day and here is a letter in her hand- writing, 
 received by me yesterday. Let me rescue you from 
 these dreadful people, who are plotting your destruc- 
 tion. Nay, touch her not,' for the woman had 
 seized her by the arm, and, in what very nearly 
 approached a scuffle, had revealed the hideously 
 maimed hand, 'touch her not. I know your his- 
 tory even to the history of that hand. Be prudent, 
 or I give you into the charge of the police.' 
 
 The pretended ' Baroness' quailed for a moment ; 
 but she was too perfect in her part to be even now 
 wholly at fault ; and so she poured forth a string of 
 invectives on Lady Shafton, and of appeals to Agnes. 
 Meanwhile the brother seized the hand of their dupe, 
 and trying daringly to draw her towards him, uttered 
 protestations that it would seem a pollution of love and 
 truth to repeat. This was beyond the endurance of 
 Edward, who, naturally athletic, seemed, from the 
 excitement of the moment, to have acquired additional 
 strength so that he untwisted the fingers which had 
 clasped the girl's wrist as if they belonged to a child, 
 instead of to a man of five-and-twenty. The baffled 
 fortune-hunter was in truth quite discomfited ; for his 
 sister probably disapproving of his harangue ti'ied 
 to stop it more than once with a sharp l tais-toiS
 
 108 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 What wells of shame, remorse, humbled pride, and 
 wounded affection were opened in the heart of poor 
 Agnes, no tongue, no pen can tell ; but once, when, 
 amid tears and sobs, she hesitated between the new 
 true friend and the false but fondly loved teacher, a 
 light broke upon her mind, which showed at least one 
 proved deception. 
 
 ' Oh, Baroness ! ' she exclaimed, with bitter emo- 
 tion, ' now that you are angry, how well you speak 
 English ! ' 
 
 For the first time during the whole scene, the 
 wretched woman blushed, while she bit her lip till the 
 blood almost started. 
 
 Hitherto the gentleman in the corner had been a 
 silent, though not unmoved listener ; now his voice was 
 heard 
 
 ' It is a singular, a most remarkable coincidence,' 
 he observed, ' but I happen to have some knowledge 
 of this lady's family, and shall certainly consider my- 
 self justified in assisting her to rescue her niece from 
 the control of strangers. I recommend you,' he con- 
 tinued, addressing the guilty pair, ' to give up the 
 young lady quietly. I have heard quite enough to 
 comprehend your aim and purpose, and can, more- 
 over, perceive that your youthful victim is at length 
 herself undeceived. Be advised, and so avoid worse 
 consequences.' 
 
 Meanwhile Agnes leaned back with closed eyes, 
 and apparently half fainting. Lady Shafton whispered 
 in her ear, ' You will go with me ; ' and the response 
 was a barely audible ' Yes.' 
 
 But the pretended Baroness heard it, and, desperate
 
 THE BLACK SHEEP OF THE FAMILY. 109 
 
 with rage and foiled desires, made one last attempt to 
 recover her advantage. Every phrase of persuasion 
 she summoned to her aid, and, among other remarks, 
 again alluded to Hester's words. 
 
 ' Remember what I heard your aunt say only this 
 morning, when I was passing through the drawing- 
 room that she repented having given up her lover 
 to please Lady Macdonald and will not you repent, 
 too ? you who would have had the glory of raising a 
 noble ' 
 
 ' False false false ! ' exclaimed Lady Shafton, 
 * you forget that we know you.' 
 
 But now the train was slackening speed, and in 
 another minute the cry of ' Tickets tickets ! ' broke 
 with its plain reality upon the excitement of the scene. 
 'You had better go,' said the stranger gentleman, 
 once more addressing the pair. And, with a fulsome 
 attempt at leave-taking of Agnes, they were, after all, 
 the first to leave the train. 
 
 ' Pardon me,' said the stranger, addressing Lady 
 Shafton, who was supporting the drooping Agnes as a 
 mother would a suffering child, ' pardon the question, 
 madam ; but have you any one in attendance ? ' 
 
 'No; but we shall readily procure a conveyance.' 
 
 ' I expect my carriage to be waiting oblige me by 
 using it. You may rely on my servants ; whereas a 
 hired driver might be followed and questioned.' 
 
 ' How kind ! how thoughtful ! ' said Lady Shafton. 
 ' Let me know to whom we are indebted.' 
 
 ' My name is . I will give you my card, or do 
 
 myself the pleasure of calling to inquire after you 
 in a day or two. James,' he continued, addressing
 
 110 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 his coachman in a low voice for the carriage was 
 quickly found ' James, I shall walk home ; but you 
 will drive these friends of mine to Harley street, and 
 drive fast. Take care you are not followed, and 
 answer no questions that may be asked you.' 
 
 Let me draw a veil over the confession of poor 
 Agnes, as she sobbed out the history of her fault to 
 Lady Shafton. Almost as ignorant of the world as a 
 cloistered nun can be, and yet possessed of warm 
 affections, and an imaginative romantic nature, the 
 artful governess had worked on this temperament, 
 partly by her conversation, and partly by the books 
 she had placed before her. She had painted in flaming 
 colors the pleasures of society and of the gay world ; 
 and had taken every occasion of contrasting them 
 with the dull life at Lauder House, and the severe 
 discipline established by Lady Macdonald. Then, 
 choosing her opportunity, the handsome brother no 
 one having an idea of the relationship had been 
 introduced, with Lady Macdonald's concurrence, as a 
 teacher of the guitar ; but only to Agnes was it told 
 that he was a nobleman in disguise ; who, for love of 
 her, had devised this subterfuge. The innocent cre- 
 dulity of youth never doubted ; she was led astray by 
 her she had been instructed to trust and obey ; and, 
 finally, by a plot within a plot, she was induced to 
 write merely as a rough copy, she was told a 
 letter to Lady Macdonald, declaring her attachment 
 and intentions, only to be used in case of necessity. 
 Then came the artfully-planned, but seemingly acci- 
 dental, opportunity ; and the moment of trust so cruelly 
 betrayed !
 
 THE BLACK SHEEP OF THE FAMILY. Ill 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 WE left Hester Ford in the first moment of her 
 astonishment and distress ; and it was long before she 
 could rouse Lady Macdonald from the dull agony in 
 which she found her, to a free burst of tears. Yet it 
 came at last, and brought something of i-elief. Never 
 had Hester seen her haughty sister so moved ; and 
 perhaps, in her heart, she had not believed her capa- 
 ble of such suffering as she witnessed. The flight of 
 Agnes and her governess had only just been discov- 
 ered ; no steps to pursue them had yet been taken ; 
 and it was clear that action and direction remained for 
 Hester. For the first time in her life, the proud, self- 
 sustained Lady Macdonald, prostrated by her anguish, 
 appealed and yielded to her younger sister. 
 
 No doubt Hester felt somewhat calmer and more 
 hopeful than she might otherwise have done, from hav- 
 ing a clue, vague as it was, to the fugitives ; and more- 
 over, she had a strange dim presentiment that her sister 
 Mary would prove all-powerful to avert the dreaded 
 calamity of a disgraceful marriage that event which 
 had been spoken of only a few hours before as ' too 
 ridiculous.' Her first thought was of the electric tele- 
 graph, but her watch told her it was too late ; she had 
 
 loitered, at D , making some purchases, and the 
 
 express train would be due in London before a mes- 
 sage to stop the fugitives could be forwarded. Finally, 
 she decided on sending the butler a trusty servant 
 by special train to London, with a letter to Lady Shaf- 
 ton, urging her to track the poor lost child. Messen-
 
 112 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 gers were sent also in other directions, and Lady 
 Macdonald's lawyer summoned ; and now the night 
 was advancing. 
 
 What a night it was ! Lady Macdonald refused even 
 to seek sleep, and alternately paced the room, wringing 
 her hands, as she by turns reproached Agnes and 
 blamed herself; or fell, exhausted by grief, into her 
 chair. All Hester's energies were taxed in her office 
 of consoler, or she might have wept even more bitterly 
 than she did for the fate and conduct of her young 
 relative. The servants had been ordered to rest, all but 
 a man who drowsed by the hall fire ; and now it must 
 have been two o'clock in the morning. Everything 
 was still out of doors ; though once, when Hester 
 opened a shutter to look at the night, she saw that 
 fresh snow was falling in large feathery flakes. Sud- 
 denly there was a noise of wheels, as of some light 
 conveyance, so near that the lodge-gates must have 
 been passed, and in another minute a loud peal at the 
 bell. 
 
 The sleepy servant roused himself to unbar the door, 
 and the sisters listened, mute and almost breathless. 
 
 ' Let me see Miss Ford instantly,' said the stranger. 
 ' I am the bearer of good news.' And Hester recog- 
 nised the voice of Edward Shafton ! She sprang to his 
 side ; six words apprised her that Agnes was saved ; 
 she led him to Lady Macdonald told the happy truth 
 in broken ejaculations and there, with the snow- 
 flakes dripping from his garments, but looking unwea- 
 ried by travel, the spirit of the glad tidings lighting up 
 his handsome countenance, stood the son of the despised 
 sister, for the first time beneath that roof.
 
 THE BLACK SHEEP OF THE FAMILY. 113 
 
 He told his story simply and distinctly, yet without 
 claiming for his mother the merit which Lady Mac- 
 donald's heart loudly proclaimed was her due. 
 
 ' Knowing but too well,' he continued, ' that every 
 hour's delay must be a year of suffering to Lady Mac- 
 donald, and as I was a witness to the whole transac- 
 tion, both my father and mother at once decided that 1 
 should bring the intelligence by a special train. Be 
 assured, dear madam, that your grand-daughter is safe, 
 save that her young heart seems almost broken by 
 remorse for the part she has played. But my mother 
 and sisters are the fondest of nurses if I could only 
 hope to mediate ' 
 
 ' Yes, yes, she must come back,' interrupted Lady 
 Macdonald. 'I will be gentle with her tender. I 
 will not reproach. Oh, Agnes, I never knew till now 
 how dear you were ! ' And again, subdued by her 
 feelings, she leaned her head on the table, and wept 
 bitterly. 
 
 All this time Edward had been standing, with a small 
 table and two wax candles which feebly lighted the 
 large room between him and Lady Macdonald; but 
 now it was that Hester offered to take his hat from his 
 hand, and motioned him to be seated. Yet, though he 
 acknowledged, he did not accept the courtesy. Lady 
 Macdonald saw the gesture of each, and understood 
 what was passing in their minds. 
 
 She calmed herself for a moment, rose from her seat, 
 and laying her hand on Edward's arm, looked at him 
 mournfully. 
 
 ' Young man,' she exclaimed, * are you so hard upon 
 me ? Can you only think of my past unkindness, and 
 8
 
 114 
 
 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 so deem yourself an unwelcome guest ? Do you not 
 know what I owe your mother ? ah, your face is 
 like hers and I feel poor Mary will forgive me yet. 
 Everything is so different from what I thought you 
 are a gentleman I could have been proud of you for 
 my own son.' Her voice was choked with fresh- 
 coming tears her frame trembled and Edward, in 
 another minute, found himself supporting the haughty 
 lady who had been to him for years the imagined type 
 of pride and coldness found himself soothing and 
 solacing her, and finally seated by her side, his hand 
 clasped in hers. That gesture, which had reminded 
 her that he felt himself the son of the outcast, had 
 probed her to the quick. 
 
 Suddenly, a new paroxysm of grief seized Lady 
 Macdonald. Hitherto, her absorbing sorrow had 
 seemed only to control the Present ; now she per- 
 ceived how its dark shadow stretched far into the 
 Future. 
 
 ' My poor Agnes ! ' she exclaimed. ' Lost, unhappy 
 child 1 What man such as I would give you to 
 will now take you for his wife, with the dark stain of 
 an attempted elopement upon you ? ' 
 
 ' Think not of this,' said Hester soothingly ; * the 
 most tangled threads of life weave themselves free at 
 last. Let us for the present only rejoice that the poor 
 child has escaped from the worst consequences of so 
 deep a plot.' 
 
 ' But I cannot help thinking of the future,' resumed 
 Lady Macdonald, in a tone of bitterness, and with in- 
 creasing emphasis. * Since my son's death, the one 
 dream, the one hope of my life has been to see Agnes
 
 THE BLACK SHEEP OF THE FAMILY. 115 
 
 suitably wed to know that my husband's name and 
 honors would be revered by his descendants to 
 believe that our line would yet show great men and 
 virtuous women; and now oh, may God forgive 
 me for clinging thus to the creature He gave me, and 
 to the hopes of this world ! ' And again, as if rent by 
 anguish, she sank her head upon her hands. 
 
 Edward Shafton was deeply moved. Truly the 
 events of the last few hours had taught him lessons of 
 life which he might have been long in learning, and 
 by a better teaching, than men licensed, it would 
 seem, rather to learn evil than good often know. 
 He spoke from his heart when he said 
 
 ' Think not men are so hard and unforgiving. I can 
 fancy a man of purest life, feeling pity and sympathy 
 for such a fault, committed at such an age. Love, too, 
 is ever generous and self-devoting. I have witnessed 
 her sufferings I am certain of her remorse and I 
 have seen the specious wretches who betrayed her, 
 and know that her innocence was no match for their 
 villany.' 
 
 ' You you but no other man in the world ! ' 
 exclaimed Lady Macdonald, wringing her hands : and 
 still, at intervals, she repeated, ' You you but no 
 other ! ' 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THOKOTTGH gossips those chattering magpies of 
 society, who are perpetually talking about persons, not
 
 116 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 things it is to be feared abound more or less in every 
 circle ; but, perhaps, it is part of the beautiful system 
 of compensation which prevails in the world, that such 
 people are never content with the morsel of truth simply 
 as they receive it. They are for ever adding to, and 
 taking from a fact ; guessing and conjecturing ; build- 
 ing up mighty fabrics on false foundations, and prop- 
 ping these falling edifices with new inventions, until, 
 in the hurly-burly, the original particle of truth often 
 glides out of sight. Thus was it and in many 
 respects most fortunately so with the saddest episode 
 in the life of Agnes. 
 
 The attempted elopement coinciding with the recon- 
 ciliation of the estranged sisters, the evil was merged 
 in the good by the voice of rumor. After two or three 
 preposterous versions had had their day, the tale quietly 
 settled down that Agnes Macdonald, impelled by a gen- 
 erous and romantic feeling, had so strongly urged her 
 grand-mother to receive Lady Shafton, that high words 
 had ensued, and that she had thereupon sought pro- 
 tection from her aunt. Indeed, one of the gossips of 
 
 D , (a male gossip, too), speaks on the subject still 
 
 with quite positive knowledge. 
 
 1 1 will tell you how I know it,' he says frequently 
 to his intimates. ' I met Mr. Peters, the butler, not 
 three days after it happened, and I asked him boldly if 
 it were true that he was sent after Miss Macdonald to 
 London, and he said, " Why, not exactly. I was sent 
 with a letter to Lady Shafton. Bless you, first of all 
 we thought Miss Agnes had run away to get married, 
 but that wasn't it; for when I got up to the London 
 house, there were the whole family retired to roost as
 
 THE BLACK SHEEP OF THE FAMILY. 117 
 
 if nothing had happened. Only my knocking woke 
 them, and her leddyship that's the new-made Lady 
 Shafion promised I should see Miss Agnes, and, after 
 a little while, brought her down in a morning-wrapper 
 to the parlor, and then she told me how she had sent 
 her son to Lauder House, to assure Lady Macdonald 
 that her grand-daughter was safe, and to explain how 
 it happened that she had taken charge of Miss Agnes 
 
 all the way from D ." Now, putting this and that 
 
 together,' continues the gossip, ' I can make out the 
 whole thing. There was the meeting in the morning 
 at the inn ; Lady Shafton would not go to Lauder 
 House to plead her own cause ; the little niece, im- 
 patient to see her, and smarting under the quarrel with 
 her grandmother, overtook her aunt just as the express 
 train was starting ; this was how it happened. As 
 for the foreign governess Peters says she went out 
 with Miss Macdonald that evening I don't clearly 
 know about her ; but it was a dull life that she hud of 
 it, and I dare say she wanted to get back to her own 
 people.' 
 
 Fortunate Agnes, to be left to the fabrications of the 
 gossips but, oh, more fortunate to have your secret 
 faithfully kept by them who knew it ! 
 
 The meeting of Agnes and her grandmother, and 
 the return of Lady Shafton, invited, honored, wel- 
 comed, to the roof from which she had fled twenty 
 years before, have something too sacred to be briefly 
 and abruptly described ; better, far better, leave them 
 to be imagined by readers who may have sympa- 
 thized with the characters and circumstances of the 
 sisters.
 
 118 ENGLISH TALES AN1> SKETCHES. 
 
 Before the Christmas week had passed, not only was 
 Lady Shafton her sister's guest, but her husband and 
 her children were gathered round that venerable lady 
 with respectful affection. Lady Maedonald's feelings 
 were very strange. She was not happy, although new 
 sources of happiness were opened to her. The wound 
 of her recent grief was still fresh ; but with that grief 
 had come knowledge. Had some such grief come to 
 her thirty years before, she would have been through 
 the prime of her years a better and a nobler woman. 
 Her pride at last had bent she had learnt she was 
 fallible ; for even her prejudices told her, that had her 
 system been perfect, ' a Macdonald and by her 
 mother's side a Percy,' as she loved to consider Agnes, 
 could not have forgotten her dignity, and proved a 
 second ' Black Sheep ' in the family. 
 
 There was to be no new governess for Agnes ; Lady 
 Macdonald decided to take a house in town to have 
 finishing-masters for her grand-daughter to relin- 
 quish, at nearly sixty years of age, her life of seclusion, 
 and once again to enter into society. 
 
 ' What are you going to do with my pet, Edward ? ' 
 she said one day to her sister. Months had now passed, 
 and almost daily intercourse had removed all embar- 
 rassment from their conversation. 
 
 ' Ah,' replied Lady Shafton, ' I wish I could posi- 
 tively answer. He is going back to college for a few 
 months, but we must decide for him very soon.' 
 
 ' Would he like the army ? ' 
 
 ' Only too well, as I have reason to know ; but we 
 have little interest and less money to promote him 
 there.'
 
 THE BLACK SHEEP OF THE FAMILY. 119 
 
 ' Money,' said Lady Macdonald, after a short pause, 
 ' money shall not be wanting ; in short, I have taken 
 a fancy to Edward, and you must leave him in my 
 hands. I have interest, if I choose to use it; and so 
 to-morrow I will write to the Commander-in-Chief 
 he will not refuse me.' 
 
 And so on the morrow she did. No one saw her 
 letter, which, however, was short and business-like ; 
 but she inclosed two or three time-stained documents, 
 the paper yellowed, the ink browned with age, and at 
 the creases holding together but by fibres. These evi- 
 dences of her husband's fame had been worn to shreds 
 by frequent opening ; for they had been to Lady Mac- 
 donald as dear and sacred as are the relics of a saint 
 to a superstitious devotee. 
 
 Her confidence was not misplaced. The Com- 
 mander-in-Chief declared that ' a request from the 
 widow of Sir Andrew Macdonald was a command,' 
 and naming three regiments, requested her to choose 
 between them. 
 
 ' Dearest Margaret,' exclaimed Lady Shafton, when 
 the subject was under discussion, and perceiving which 
 way her sister inclined, ' these brilliant prospects for 
 Edward terrify me in one respect. The officers of the 
 
 th are, as every one knows, noblemen or men of 
 
 fortune how can he with small means associate with 
 them on equal terms ? ' 
 
 ' I have thought of all this,' said Lady Macdonald, 
 promptly ; ' you forgot that J have undertaken to pro- 
 vide for him. My dear Mary, I have been saving half 
 my income for twenty years, and am richer than you 
 suspect ; and as for Agnes, her mother's fortune se-
 
 120 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 cured to her, has already doubled by lying untouched. 
 Edward is a gentleman every inch ; and the Shaftons 
 are one of the oldest families in England. I wonder, 
 Mary, you never told me so.' 
 
 ' I never knew it,' said Lady Shafton, smiling ; ' my 
 husband cares only for his art, and I believe, if the 
 truth were to be told, would rather be descended from 
 Michael Angelo's color-grinder than from William the 
 Conqueror.' 
 
 'How extraordinary!' exclaimed Lady Macdonald, 
 ' and in such a man, with " patrician " stamped in 
 every movement. 
 
 ' The stamp of genius, darling sister,' exclaimed 
 Lady Shafton, enraptured at this appreciation of her 
 beloved husband at last. 
 
 ' Nonsense ; directly my attention was drawn to the 
 subject I found out all about the family. There was a 
 Sir Hugh Shafton distinguished in the wars of the 
 Roses, and a descendant of his intermarried with the 
 Howards. Some of the oldest families in England 
 have fallen into similar decay.' 
 
 Later that day Lady Macdonald observed, 
 
 * If Agnes were to marry a gentleman wanting fixed 
 position, I could easily obtain the restoration of the 
 baronetcy extinct by the failure of male heirs. The 
 Government would not refuse me.' 
 
 Ah ! it was easy to see in what direction her thoughts 
 were roaming. Edward's words on the'night he came 
 to Lauder House, as the herald of peace and reconcilia- 
 tion, had never left her memory, that declaration of 
 pity and sympathy for Agnes, which had drawn from 
 her the exclamation, ' You you, but no other ! ' Her
 
 THE BLACK SHEEP OF THE FAMILY. 121 
 
 own words seemed to haunt her, and point to but one 
 result. Nor was there in this the inconsistency which 
 at first there seems. Pride, her ruling passion, was still 
 her ally ; it taught her that Agnes could never wed 
 without a confession of her early fault ; and yet, how 
 was the revelation to be endured ? Poor Agnes ! No 
 girl or woman ever commits your fault without having 
 some penalty to pay ! 
 
 Perhaps, too, the consideration in which Lady Mac- 
 donald perceived Sir William Shafton and his family 
 were held had its weight ; for at his house she met the 
 bearers of ancient names who paid their homage to 
 genius, and moved, without a dream of condescension, 
 among the new nobility the aristocracy of active in- 
 tellect which is ruling the world. Though her mind 
 had rusted by torpor, Lady Macdonald was far too 
 clever not to recognise the fact, that while she had se- 
 cluded herself to rear two generations, the world had 
 rolled on to a brighter, purer atmosphere, than was 
 known when she left it. Military Glory was well and 
 right when duly earned, and it had made way for the 
 Victories of Peace ; but the world had other glories also 
 now. Her head whirled sometimes when she thought 
 of these things, yet she did not turn away from the 
 contemplation. 
 
 But what of the persons chiefly concerned ? very 
 naturally asks the reader what of Edward Shafton 
 and Agnes Macdonald themselves ? Why, that there 
 was much in their age, relationship, which though dis- 
 tant, was relationship still, and the peculiar circum- 
 stances of their position, which drew them insensibly 
 nearly, dearly, and intimately together ; and that every
 
 122 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 one about them was far too prudent to mar the project 
 which everybody wished fulfilled, by appearing to 
 know anything about it. Yet there was a marriage in 
 the family, and that the first year of Lady Macdonald's 
 residence in London. 
 
 The stranger of the railway-carriage fulfilled his pro- 
 mise of calling in Harley-street, and sent in his card, 
 * Mr. Gerald Went more.' He was a rich man now, 
 and on the eve of being returned member for a northern 
 county on Lady Macdonald's side of politics too. 
 Need we tell of the second wooing of her who had 
 refused, but truly loved him ? Enough that, though 
 Hester listened to the story of his faith, kept unchanged 
 through years, faith to a sentiment, a remembrance, 
 he did not tell her of the words repeated by the pre- 
 tended Baroness, and which fanned once more into a 
 flame the smouldering embers of hope. Very likely 
 she has owned to him the truth which they conveyed ; 
 but lovers' tete-d-tetes are sacred, even though the 
 lovers be no longer young. 
 
 Nothing positive is known of the ' Baroness ' and her 
 brother; but a pair, singularly like them from descrip- 
 tion, have been recently convicted as swindlers. 
 
 And now for our further facts we are indebted to 
 the Morning Post. Among the presentations at her 
 Majesty's last drawing-room, we read, ' Mrs. Gerald 
 Wentmore, on her marriage, by her sister, Lady Mac- 
 donald,' and ' Miss Macdonald, by her aunt, Lady Shaf- 
 ton.' And lower down, among the on dits, there was 
 this paragraph : 
 
 ' It is confidently reported that a marriage is on the 
 tapis between the beautiful and accomplished Miss
 
 THE BLACK SHEEP OF THE FAMILY. 123 
 
 Macdonald, grand-daughter of the late Sir Andrew 
 Macdonald, Bart., K. C. B., &/c. &c., and the gallant 
 
 Captain Shafton, of the th Dragoons, only son of 
 
 our English Correggio, Sir William Shafton.'
 
 HAUNTED HOUSES. 
 
 ' A jolly place,' said he, ' in times of old ! 
 But something ails it now : the place is curst.' 
 
 WORDSWORTH. 
 
 THERE is a certain class of literature, that must now 
 be very near its death-struggle. It has passed through 
 the stages when hot-pressed paper, once devoted to its 
 use, lined the bodies of trunks and assisted the cheese- 
 monger. In those days it still claimed the semi- 
 respect which belongs to fallen greatness ; but now the 
 thick creamy paper rejects it altogether, and it strives 
 for a protracted existence only on the poor-looking, 
 but mischievous sheets that circulate among the igno- 
 rant, the idle, and the vicious. It is acquainted with 
 low taverns and miserable dwellings ; and after pollut- 
 ing the minds of its readers to the best of its ability, 
 wraps up some nauseous preparation of tobacco, pre- 
 paratory to being trampled in the kennel. This is a 
 more ignoble fate than winding round wholesome 
 butter, or lining a strong leathern trunk. 
 
 The very themes which associate themselves in our 
 minds with this repudiated ' Minerva Press ' School of 
 writing belong, when treated by a master-hand, to the 
 highest ranks of literature. Romantic fiction is some- 
 times the right hand of philosophy, and teaches deeper
 
 HAUNTED HOUSES. 125 
 
 ' truths than those which dwell on the historian's page ; 
 and many things which, for want of a more exact 
 term, we call Superstition, are intimately interwoven 
 with much that is precious in religion, in morals, and 
 in poetry. When Genius touches a fragment of Super- 
 stition, the dross all falls away, leaving the pure inde- 
 structible ore to be handled and fashioned to a shape of 
 beauty. This did Shakspere a hundred times ; and 
 Coleridge in his ' Ancient Mariner ; ' Scott in his ' Lady 
 of Avenet ; ' and not to prolong an infinite string of 
 quotations poor Hood, in his beautiful poem, ' The 
 Haunted House.' 
 
 The Superstition of ' Haunted Houses,' is as ' old as 
 the hills,' or if not quite so venerable, seems to have 
 originated as soon as houses were built. But the su- 
 perstition especially prolonged to the feudal times, 
 when every baronial dwelling had its tale to be told of 
 strife and bloodshed ; when might, not right, gained 
 the day ; when written chronicles were few, and the 
 story literally repeated at first, gained something from 
 the imagination of each successive narrator, till, in a 
 few generations, facts became so warped and disfig- 
 ured, so added to and subtracted from, that the very 
 actors in the life-dramas recorded would not have 
 recognised the scenes and events described, could 
 they indeed have risen from their tombs and haunted 
 the story-tellers ! Somehow or other, the legend 
 becomes vulgarized in the light of the nineteenth cen- 
 tury : instead of a beautiful lady, attired in flowing 
 white draperies, with shining dark hair, (not out of curl 
 from the dews of night, or contact with her earthy 
 resting-place,) who at the dead of night paced the
 
 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 long corridors of the ' Haunted House ' with noiseless 
 tread, ever resting at one spot, ever pointing to one 
 panel, (where of course there was hidden the proof of 
 some ' rightful heir's ' claims,) ever vanishing at crow- 
 of-cock, yet ever returning ; instead of this, the more 
 modern version is that of an invisible sprite, whose lof- 
 tiest mission is to ring the bells and break the china 
 in this last particular generously taking upon himself 
 the misdeeds of the cat or the kitchen-maid. 
 
 Surely, however, in this marked degeneracy of the 
 latter-day ghosts, we can trace the symptoms of their 
 decaying influence. 
 
 But let us dwell for a moment on the real, old-fash- 
 ioned, orthodox Haunted House, and conjure up to the 
 mind's eye at least its material features. It is a gloomy, 
 desolate looking pile, deserted by the owner, going to 
 wreck and ruin from neglect. The rusty gate creaks 
 on the one hinge by which it hangs ; the gravel path is 
 green with moss and weeds ; a few hardy garden flow- 
 ers grow wild, when not quite choked by the deadly em- 
 brace of the beth-bind ; dark, thick leaved trees spread 
 forth their straggling branches, which seem in the twi- 
 light like ready palls for the coffined dead ; the fish-pond 
 is but a stagnant pool, too fetid even for the water-lilies 
 to live, only long reedy grass can draw nourishment 
 from its pollution ; the statue which graced the en- 
 trance hall are noseless, fingerless, or headless ; the 
 banisters are broken ; the rats have gnawed away the 
 wainscot ; the stairs are fascinatingly dangerous to 
 tread ; the mildewed ' arras ' flaps with every breeze ; 
 the windows are broken, and bats and owls flit in and 
 out ; dust and damp are the varnish to everything,
 
 HAUNTED HOUSES. 127 
 
 and cobwebs tbe appropriate drapery ; there is a stain 
 on the oaken floor, impervious to scouring drops, and 
 defiant of patent scrubbing-brushes ; and and the 
 visitor is invited to listen to the story of the 'White 
 Lady,' or the ' Warrior Knight,' who, on account of 
 their own unrepented sins, are permitted to frighten 
 and torment their descendants, or stranger guests. But 
 these, whatever their private and individual failings, 
 never did the ghosts any harm, either in the body or 
 the spirit ; and it must be allowed that the revenants 
 are sadly deficient in a sense of justice and considera- 
 tion for nervous people. The French word, literally 
 ' comer-back,' is more expressive than our own. 
 
 But there are other sorts of Haunted Houses than 
 those which have found favor with ballad-mongers and 
 story-tellers. Houses where neither dust nor damp 
 prevails ; where cobwebs are carefully brushed away ; 
 and where the busy stir of human life proclaims these 
 dwellings to be lawfully occupied Houses, bright- 
 faced to meet the open sunshine, either in the crowded 
 city, or by the breezy downs ; houses which own no 
 legend of the midnight hour, and yet are haunted by 
 spirits potent for good and evil. 
 
 See that modest looking dwelling; it is one of a row 
 all built by the same rule and measure, and yet it has 
 a distinct character of its own. The door-steps are a 
 thought whiter than those of its neighbors, and it may 
 be the windows are somewhat brighter. Yet little rosy 
 cheeks, and shining golden curls, often lean against 
 the glass, especially when he is expected who ever 
 returns from the labors of the day with loving smiles 
 and cheerful words. A young matron plies her needle
 
 128 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 a little apart from those eager watchers, yet looks from 
 time to time over their heads, or between the net-work 
 of their wreathed arms ; the ' neat-handed ' serving 
 maid there is but one listens also for the well- 
 known step, and knows it the signal for tea to be 
 ready. The children have pets, feathered and four- 
 footed, which are tamed to intelligence ; and an old 
 superannuated dog, that once a day recovers its spright- 
 liness to welcome the master. The well-conditioned 
 cat too, purrs musically at his feet, and rubs her sleek 
 head against his boot. It is what thousands would call 
 an humble home but a lofty spirit haunts the place 
 
 the holy and beautiful spirit of Love ! No living 
 thing within its precincts trembles at harsh words or 
 frowning looks a band of invisible fairies, evoked 
 by their ruler, circle round the walls, and exorcise 
 Fear, and Fear's attendant vices from Love's happy 
 dominions. 
 
 Only the next door but what a difference ! the 
 very atmosphere seems changed as you enter. It is 
 the house of a tyrant one of that miserable class 
 who love power in its meanest shape. He has chased 
 Power as a savage chases and vvoos a mistress, and has 
 found it at last in his money-bags. Yet he is a miser 
 
 and spends not to bless or enjoy. What evil spirits 
 haunt the house ! Little yellow imps sit perched upon a 
 large tin box, that holds hard-hearted bonds and shriv- 
 elled leases, and they grin and jabber with demoniac 
 glee when the winter wind blows bitter cold, and the 
 snow-flakes fall, and the gaunt and famished wanderer 
 begs her way to the workhouse gate. Terror, too, like 
 a grim skeleton, stalks up and down, making every
 
 HAUNTED HOUSES. 129 
 
 living thing to tremble ; and in league with this master- 
 spirit there have been summoned a troop of demon 
 dwarfs sharp cunning, deceit, meanness which 
 always come where Fear abides to weave their tan- 
 gled nets. Alas ! they seem to be but ready servants 
 to the trembling coward whom tyranny has crushed to 
 their companionship ; and yet as they weave and 
 weave, and work and work, the shuttle flies furthe r 
 and further till the web of evil has grown a mighty 
 one, and makes of him who called it into being a 
 miserable captive for life ! 
 
 Let us enter now that stylish-looking mansion. The 
 rooms are lofty, and maintain an air of elegance. The 
 walls are used to echo song, and jest, and hollow laugh- 
 ter ; the wide mirrors to reflect a throng of stranger 
 faces ; and yet the house is haunted by an ugly sprite, 
 that sits at the board when costly viands are displayed, 
 and bright wines poured. The sprite wears a broad 
 and comely mask over its own bloated, ill-favored 
 countenance, but the mask is always slipping aside, and 
 everybody sees that it is Ostentation, not Hospitality, 
 which does the honors. Ostentation makes every place 
 disagreeable that he inhabits ; for his law is to seem, 
 and not to be. Once firmly established, seldom any- 
 thing but poverty can drive him away and poverty 
 often comes at last, introduced by the go-between 
 Extravagance. 
 
 Very often large buildings, where hundreds of human 
 beings congregate, and toil from early dawn to long 
 past sun-set, are only haunted houses. Haunted by 
 the cruel spirit of Avarice, that for its own earthly 
 gain sacrifices souls and bodies. It bows down young 
 
 V
 
 130 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 children to disease and death ; it robs youth of its 
 bloom, and the just inheritance of hope and fruition ; 
 it degrades man to a worse condition than that of the 
 brutes, for it forces his higher, but unused powers, to 
 dwindle to incapacity, and thus peoples the land with 
 ignorance and vice, with the overthrowers of order and 
 the doers of evil, making these of the very souls that 
 might have expanded to noble offices. 
 
 Avarice often takes more fair sounding names than 
 its own, and there are certainly degrees in its malig- 
 nity ; but too seldom it is banished altogether from 
 the ' mill ' and the mart, from the warehouse and the 
 counter! 
 
 We must breathe more freely ; come away to beneath 
 a different roof, where mind is working for the good of 
 humanity. There are many such, the school-house, 
 the lecture hall, the picture-gallery, the print- 
 ing office, and the quiet home in which the Thinker 
 broods, and whence he sends the spiritual sheet, or the 
 eloquent canvass, or calls to being whatever the mate- 
 rial instrument he chooses for his purpose. The Spirit 
 of Wisdom 'haunts 1 the place to make it holy, and 
 stretches its fair white wings around to keep off evil 
 influences. Justice, and Truth, and Charity, stand 
 hand in hand ; and Love, the love of all humanity, 
 nestles there, for True Wisdom is not to be separated 
 from the Virtues. 
 
 Every house is a * Haunted House,' if we think of it 
 in this fashion ; and fancy can almost give a corporeal 
 shape to each invisible presence. An evil spirit is 
 only to be exorcised by its opposite ; but though self- 
 ishness, ill-temper, and avarice, are potent despots,
 
 HAUNTED HOUSES. 131 
 
 clinging with tight hold to the thrones they have 
 usurped, spreading misery like a pestilence, and with- 
 ering goodness and happiness wherever they abide, 
 Wisdom and Love are yet mightier powers, with an 
 infinite train of fairy followers, ever ready to vanquish 
 the evil spirits, ever ready to sit by our hearths, if we 
 will but invite them with hearty good-will !
 
 THE HARTSDALE VINDICATOR, OR MODERN 
 INNOVATIONS. 
 
 * WELL, my dear Sir, have you heard the news ? ' 
 said Major Stukely, a retired officer in an English 
 country town, to a friend who had only just returned 
 home after an absence of some weeks. 
 
 ' Not a word have I heard that deserves to be called 
 news,' replied he ; ' what is going on, pray ? ' 
 
 * Why, a railway is to pass through the town ; that 
 is all.' 
 
 * A railway ! nonsense,' cried the other ; ' we are 
 very well as we are. Everything goes on very nicely 
 at present. The stage-coach that comes to the town 
 daily, is sufficient for all the traffic ; and to break in 
 upon this quiet rural scene with one of their horrid 
 snorting locomotives, would be a downright sin.' 
 
 ' Gentlemen, you will all come to my way of think- 
 ing at last,' interposed Mr. Elliot, the medical prac- 
 titioner of the place, as he joined the group. ' We must 
 have a paper to protect our interests. What with the 
 new poor-laws, and fifty other new-fangled things, we 
 shall go completely to the wall if we do not assert our 
 opinions, and have our say against such innovations. 
 Ah, if old Sir George had been living, he would have 
 taken care to preserve such a fine hunting county as
 
 THE HARTSDALE VINDICATOR. 133 
 
 this from these abominable changes. For my own part, 
 I should not wonder if, in twenty years, there is not a 
 fox to be found. As for our member, the present Sir 
 George, he is not a bit of a sportsman ; in fact, I look 
 upon him as a traitor, and think, when we do establish 
 a paper, he ought to be shown up. Why, he has 
 actually given permission for the railway to pass right 
 through his park.' 
 
 4 But he stipulated for a bridge over it, and really 
 some persons think his property is in no way injured,' 
 interrupted one who, though speaking in a gentle voice, 
 ventured to have an opinion of her own on two or three 
 subjects. * And as for the foxes,' she continued, ' if the 
 end and aim of hunting be their extirpation, as we must 
 suppose, the result of all these changes which you 
 anticipate will be a very happy one.' 
 
 ' Ah, Miss Somers,' said Mr. Elliot, 'you have not led 
 a country life, or you would not speak in that way. 
 
 ' Nay, ever since I left school, for seven years Harts- 
 dale has been my home,' she replied ; ' yet I think 
 now, as I thought long ago, that the chase is an occu- 
 pation only fit for savages, and that the lover of it must 
 of necessity be devoid of humanity and intellectual 
 cultivation. To be sure I feel so great a disgust to- 
 wards sportsmen, that I have as little compassion for 
 them as they bestow on the brutes, and never can 
 grieve when the loss of life or limb brings them their 
 just deserts. However, as you say, had I lived all my 
 life in the country, and been taken when a little girl 
 to see the hounds throw off, and been taught by my 
 brothers that it was a fine thing to maim poor birds, 
 and to torture a timid hare, perhaps I might have
 
 134 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 thought differently. But I am thankful to Providence, 
 that, as it is, I know how to call some things by their 
 right names.' 
 
 Louisa Somers warmed as she spoke, for she felt 
 keenly on the subjects then under discussion. And it 
 is a happy thing for the improvement of the world, that 
 young minds are for ever springing up, untrammelled 
 by old habits or dee'p-rooted prejudices, but with strong 
 energies and fresh hearts, ready to open out new and 
 better paths. 
 
 ' I was saying,' proceeded Mr. Elliot, who was an 
 excellent man, though a little wrong-headed on some 
 points ' I was saying that, since Sir George has de- 
 clared himself on the side of these ridiculous and mis- 
 chievous innovators, I have no hope for Hartsdale but 
 in the firmness and consistency of its inhabitants ; and 
 I think the idea of a monthly newspaper an admirable 
 one. Every considerable body requires its organ. 
 We have been too long without one, and have conse- 
 quently become the prey of interlopers and speculators 
 of all sorts.' 
 
 The somewhat pompous major, who had carried 
 into private life some of the prejudices of his military 
 career, and was a hater of all new plans and projects, 
 perfectly agreed with the doctor, and favored him 
 with many suggestions thought by both to be very 
 admirable. 
 
 The conversation to which I have alluded took place 
 on the occasion of a tea-party at the house of the Misses 
 Gunning, two ancient ladies, who, though they bore the 
 traces of having been dowered in their youth with 
 beauty not inferior to that of their famous namesakes,
 
 THE HARTSDALE VINDICATOR. 135 
 
 had passed their lives in a calm seclusion the very 
 opposite to the career of the celebrated dames. Miss 
 Elizabeth, the younger, had been betrothed forty years 
 ago to a handsome soldier cousin, who fell in the pen- 
 insular war. The shock to her mind, and the grief 
 that followed his death, brought on a tedious illness, 
 and during many years her sister Susan devoted her- 
 self to the sufferer with that self-devotion, patience, and 
 affection, which belong to the heroism of private life. 
 Tenderly attached to each other, the minds of both 
 were sobered down from youth's giddiness by that 
 which had been a mutual grief; and even when Time, 
 the healer, had worked its cure, they looked on the 
 world with different eyes, different wishes, different 
 expectations, from those of their untroubled days. 
 They determined to live for each other only, and, 
 several years before this little story opens, they chose 
 Laurel Cottage for their residence. 
 
 If I am too minute in sketching the incidents which 
 had moulded such simple characters as theirs, the 
 reader will bear with it, because it is only by remem- 
 bering the quiet course of their latter years, and the 
 tone of feeling so averse to change which pre- 
 vailed in the little town, that he can understand the 
 perplexities which came upon its inhabitants. A word 
 must be said about Hartsdale itself. Tradition attri- 
 butes the name to some romantic incident of a hart 
 escaping thither from the hunters, one of whom lost 
 his life in attempting to follow it down a ravine. The 
 spot is shown by the learned to the curious to this day. 
 Situated in a beautiful valley of one of the midland 
 counties of England, and distant about twelve miles
 
 136 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 from a cathedral city, Hartsdale, though it boasts a 
 market once a week, and enumerates other privileges 
 which help to constitute a town instead of a village, is 
 a place to which change and improvements for some 
 time travelled but slowly ; and this, although in the 
 'old times' of fiery red, bright blue, and blinding yel- 
 low stage-coaches, no fewer than ten of these machines 
 passed down the High Street in the course of the day. 
 But, alas ! they passed, or seldom indeed stopped to 
 cast upon the barrenness one particle of news. Yet 
 stay ! The ' Telegraph,' moving with a four-horse 
 power at the rate of eight miles an hour, did in those 
 golden days change horses at the White Hart Inn, and 
 consequently and naturally the Telegraph was voted 
 by the Hartsdalians to be the safest, quickest, finest, 
 and every way most desirable vehicle on the road. 
 From the driver or passengers of the Telegraph a 
 morsel of news sometimes fell, like a crumb to the 
 hungry ; but the mail even dropped the letter-bag 
 without stopping ! Nevertheless, I have a firm convic- 
 tion that the circumstance of the town lying in a road 
 through which ten coaches per day, to different parts of 
 the kingdom, must pass, had been a pride, a pleasure, 
 and an attraction, not to be estimated by those who, 
 from their proximity to populous places, have rather an 
 aversion than otherwise to the sound of wheels. 
 
 But a new era was at hand ; within the last two 
 years the railways had intruded on Hartsdale : those 
 moral arteries which, traversing the kingdom from 
 end to end, carrying intelligence of all sorts to and 
 from its mighty heart, and so removing prejudices, 
 jealousies, and enmities, are destined to prove among
 
 THE HARTSDALE VINDICATOR. 137 
 
 those triumphs of science which bless and regenerate 
 mankind. But the little community, not clear-sighted 
 or long-sighted enough to perceive all these advan- 
 tages, and full of local pride and present interests, saw 
 nothing but the petty inconveniences and personal in- 
 juries attendant on the changes of the time. One by 
 one the stage-coaches dropped away, just in proportion 
 as the new lines in the neighboring counties were 
 thrown open. No longer could the schoolmistress 
 dismiss her little flock without reference to clock or 
 sun-dial, knowing full well that when the horn of the 
 'Defiance' fast coach was sounded, it must be one 
 o'clock. No longer could the grocer's wife regulate 
 her spouse's dinner-hour by the appearance of ' Light- 
 ning' on the brow of the hill. The proud Defiance 
 lay humbled to the dust, wheelless and degraded, in a 
 coach-maker's yard, preparatory to being chopped up 
 for firewood ; and Lightning was extinct, or departed 
 no one knew whither. At last a pert new-stuccoed 
 station was erected within three miles of the town, and 
 the encroaching iron enemy thus brought as it were to 
 their very door. Even the Telegraph their own 
 dear Telegraph that had been true to them through 
 all, showed. symptoms of desertion. Yet what could 
 IT do, poor thing ? It died very hard. Day after day 
 it drove through the town without a single passenger ; 
 then the four horses were reduced to two ; and, finally, 
 so convinced were the.Hartsdalians that it had ' done 
 all which it became a coach to do ' in the maintenance 
 of its existence and its dignity so clearly did they 
 perceive that it was vanquished only by the stern 
 power of a resistless foe that though tears were
 
 138 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 shed at the announcement that IT too had found its 
 ' occupation gone,' pity was bestowed upon the pro- 
 prietor and coachman, instead of the torrent of 
 reproach which had been showered on the heads of 
 the earlier deserters. 
 
 And now the blow had fallen Hartsdale was with- 
 out a coach ! And it must be acknowledged that 
 several inconveniences were the result. Not only did 
 the Misses Gunning feel lonely and desolate, now 
 that they could no longer start to their window half a 
 dozen times a day to behold a coach load of dusty or 
 mud-bespattered travellers, but whenever they them- 
 selves made an excursion of a few miles it scarcely- 
 mattered in which direction a calamity fell on them, 
 to which custom brought no reconciling feelings. 
 Their elderly man-servant Peter, in addition to his 
 care of the garden, was groom, to, and driver of, a 
 stout horse, to which was ordinarily attached a low 
 phaeton. The body of the carriage only held the 
 two ladies conveniently though there were many 
 persons who thought there was abundant room for a 
 third but the seat beside the driver was one surely 
 open for lawful competition. Now that there were no 
 coaches to take them short stages, what could people 
 possessing neither carriages nor horses do but beg 
 the use of them from their more fortunate neighbors ? 
 Sometimes if the weather were doubtful there was 
 the readier plea there came a courteous message at 
 breakfast-time to ask, ' If the Misses Gunning were 
 
 going into C that day, would they be so very 
 
 kind as to give Mr. So-and-so a seat beside Peter ? or 
 if they were not going to use the phaeton any day that
 
 THE HARTSDALE VINDICATOR. 139 
 
 week, he would consider it a particular obligation if 
 they would lend it to him. Mrs. So-and-so had heard 
 that their darling Eleanor at school seven miles off, 
 had fallen down and hurt her wrist, and she was so 
 anxious to see her cross roads no conveyance 
 a thousand apologies,' &c. &c. 
 
 Now, the dear old ladies had the kindest hearts in 
 the world hearts so kind that their humanity ex- 
 tended to the brutes ; and they plainly perceived that 
 the position of their horse Tartar was ceasing to be 
 the enviable one it had long been considered. A 
 council was held, to which Peter was called ; and he, 
 judging, as he said, by the manner in which Tartar 
 threw back his ears, either when he started with an 
 unusual load or took up a stray pedestrian on the way, 
 was of opinion that the horse could not stand it. Alas ! 
 alas ! many a time the ladies deprived themselves of 
 their accustomed ride to oblige an acquaintance, stipu- 
 lating always, however, that Peter should drive, on 
 which occasions he took care that Tartar should neither 
 go too far nor too fast. 
 
 And now another disturbance was coming, like an 
 avalanche, upon Hartsdale. The railway had brought 
 so many strangers to the spot, that its ' capability ' 
 and ' resources ' were perceived and acknowledged. 
 It was thought a pity that the clear and rapid stream 
 which flowed like a girdle half round its sheltering 
 hills, should sink into the navigable river, which, nearer 
 to the ocean, it fed, without fulfilling some useful des- 
 tiny something more important, if less poetical, than 
 laving the graceful willows that overhung its waters. 
 In fact, rumor said that a great capitalist was in treaty
 
 140 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 for some land, and that a paper-mill would be erected 
 in the valley. The idea of a newspaper to support 
 what seemed the tottering interests of Hartsdale, was 
 certainly a bold one, and its establishment was a proof 
 what great things determined perseverance may accom- 
 plish. Mr. Elliot was the apothecary of the place, but 
 fortunately for him he possessed some private property, 
 for really the Hartsdalians were so remarkably healthy 
 that, otherwise, it is very probable his gentle wife and 
 rosy children would have fared something worse than 
 they did. Fortunate, too, was it in another sense ; for 
 his labors were so light, that they afforded him abun- 
 dant leisure for the cultivation of a literary taste, 
 which it was said had descended to him thus : His 
 grandfather had, in the brilliant days of his contem- 
 porary Hayley, contributed verses to the Gentleman's 
 Magazine, which same effusions, though published 
 anonymously, were registered in the family archives 
 as his ; albeit certain critics of the time had attributed 
 them to the immortal bard before mentioned. His im- 
 mediate progenitor had once had the honor of dining 
 in company with Byron had even spoken to and 
 shaken hands with him. Whereon it was supposed he 
 took the infection of poesy ; for immediately on his 
 his return home, he, being very much in love with 
 the lady who ultimately became Mr. Elliot's honored 
 mamma, did indite to her sundry verses or stanzas, 
 which were deemed in themselves so admirable, and 
 every way worthy of preservation, that they were, on 
 the occasion of the marriage, which took place soon 
 afterwards, placed beside the celebrated printed ex- 
 tracts from the Gentleman's Magazine. In the present
 
 THE HARTSDALE VINDICATOR. 141 
 
 Mr. Elliot the propensity had been more strongly and 
 decidedly developed ; he had been a poet from his 
 youth ; was quite accustomed to see himself in print ; 
 had thrice sent verses to the very editors who now 
 treated his prose communications with so much neg- 
 lect, which verses had been by them promoted to a 
 place in the Poet's Corner of their respective journals ; 
 and had absolutely published a pamphlet on some po- 
 litical topic I forget what in which he took great 
 interest. 
 
 It was now discovered that Mr. Elliot must have 
 been intended by nature for a newspaper editor, an 
 opinion in which, it must be confessed, he was not 
 slow to join. And yet what a mighty weight of busi- 
 ness fell on his shoulders ! What consultations, what 
 meetings, what tea-parties were there, before even a 
 name could be decided on ! At last, and by almost 
 universal consent, 'The Hartsdale Vindicator' was 
 adopted as a title that would express the champion- 
 ship, which was undertaken most completely. But 
 when it was known to all the active spirits of the 
 place, and to at least two-thirds of the Hartsdalians in 
 general, that Mr. Elliot was self-appointed to the cares 
 and difficulties of editing ' their paper,' it all at once 
 occurred to him that an air of mystery was customary 
 in these important literary offices. The majestic edi- 
 torial WE ought to be a concealing visor, as well as an 
 Achilles' shield, from behind which the champion 
 should hurl the arrows of honest indignation. Mr. 
 Elliot knew himself to be but mortal : how could he 
 be sure to resist the beseechings of friends, or the 
 workings of party interests, if his privacy were to be
 
 142 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 invaded by open petitions ? How could he anathe- 
 mathize a railway, when his dearest friend confided to 
 him that he held many shares therein ? How could 
 he utterly extinguish the spreading light of a new 
 book, on the title-page of which appeared his name, 
 'with the author's kindest regards?' It was not to 
 be thought of. No, the strictest incognito must be 
 preserved ; and forthwith the editor of the Vindicator 
 was spoken of as a mysterious shade : indeed hints 
 were thrown out (the Hartsdalians would not have 
 told a downright fib for the world) of two or three of 
 these incorporeal personages being rolled into one. It 
 was almost, if not altogether impossible, they said, 
 that one person could manage such an affair. A 
 variety of style was indispensable. Departments of 
 politics, literature, science, and art, were spoken about 
 as things requiring each an Atlas shoulder for its sup- 
 port; and any confirmation of another's opinion beyond 
 the nod or the shake of a head, was looked upon as 
 an act of high treason. Of course there was a little 
 knot, including the Misses Gunning, Major Stukely, 
 and Louisa Somers, who owned to each other that 
 they knew all about it. 
 
 The directing mental influence being thus decided 
 on, and contributions of various sorts having been 
 received, and accepted or rejected with due forms and 
 proper courtesy, some duller and more matter-of-fact 
 details came under discussion. As the little knot in- 
 cluded the chief * proprietors ' of the work, they were 
 consulted on the size of the projected paper, and the 
 manner of printing it. One timid spirit suggested that 
 it should be printed at the cathedral city, which was the
 
 THE HARTSDALE VINDICATOR. 143 
 
 capital of the county ; but his single voice was drowned 
 in the exclamations of disapprobation which escaped 
 from the others, at a suggestion so derogatory to the 
 proper dignity of all. The circumstance of Hartsdale 
 not possessing a printing-press within the circle of its 
 entire domain, was one of no importance ; or rather, 
 such a fact brought to light was only a reason they 
 should more quickly rid themselves of a reproach so 
 suggestive of barbaric darkness. And I do not think 
 the community will easily forget the day on which the 
 carrier's cart brought in the dingy apparatus a 
 second-hand press, which had seen considerable ser- 
 vice whose destiny it was to usher forth the first 
 number of the glorious Vindicator. Old and young, 
 rich and poor, rushed forth to get a peep at it ; and, 
 although the bells were not set ringing, I know many 
 persons thought the omission very culpable. 
 
 The first number at length appeared, in all the im- 
 portance of eight pages, three columns each. The title 
 was printed on a flourishing scroll, and beneath it was 
 seen a Shakspere motto. The leading article treated 
 temperately but firmly on the injuries the Hartsdalians 
 had endured, were suffering, and were likely to receive, 
 from divers daring intruders on their rights and privi 
 leges. The local intelligence, on which considerable 
 pains had been bestowed, was of a fair average quality, 
 and that was all that could be expected. Louisa 
 Somers who would not write one line in opposition 
 to what she felt were coming improvements, but who 
 dared not yet become their defender, knowing well that 
 to attack prejudices violently is the way to strengthen 
 them had contributed an amusing column of gossip
 
 144 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 about a recent visit to the metropolis, and which every 
 body who was not in the secret, attributed to a London 
 correspondent ; and somebody else had written a pun- 
 ning poem on the Ruin of the County, taking for his 
 text certain fragments of brick and stone, said to be the 
 remains of an ancient castle, but turning the word with 
 punsterial dexterity to the miseries which threatened 
 their hearths and homes. Altogether, the Hartsdale 
 Vindicator was pronounced a neat and interesting 
 paper. A copy was sent to Sir George, the member, 
 who instantly subscribed for a twelvemonth's supply ; 
 and the early numbers went off capitally, for most of 
 the Hartsdalians took several to send to distant friends. 
 If the truth must be owned, however, the sale was not 
 such as to promise an increase of revenue to the pro- 
 prietors ; and though friends flattered, strangers often 
 applauded, and foes at any rate were silent, there were 
 drawbacks on the dignity of proprietorship and the joys 
 of editorial authority. The interval of a month be- 
 tween the numbers was a long one, and mischief of a 
 grave kind was often done before the Vindicator had 
 an opportunity of raising its voice in defence of good* 
 old customs. Excavations were made, and lines laid 
 down, with alarming rapidity ; a tall red chimney was 
 already showing itself, seeming, at a little distance, to 
 grow up foot by foot from the rich foliage which 
 skirted the river ; till it was soon evident that, before 
 the end of the next summer, the paper-mills would be 
 in full operation. 
 
 All looked on with terror and dismay, except Louisa 
 Somers, the curate's sister, who ventured sometimes to 
 own she thought it possible much good might arise
 
 THE HARTSDALE VINDICATOR. 145 
 
 from the seeming evil. But then Louisa was not a 
 Hartsdalian born or bred, and so her eccentric notions 
 were looked upon with some leniency. And yet she 
 must have loved Hartsdale very much, I think ; and 
 certainly the poor of the place loved her most dearly, 
 notwithstanding her heterodox opinions. Possessed of 
 a small fortune, just enough for lady-like independence, 
 and no more, she preferred the useful life she fashioned 
 for herself, as mistress of her brother's quiet home, to 
 all the vanities and vexations she might have found 
 amid the gaieties of the metropolis, where the remain- 
 der of the family resided. But she was one of those 
 young women, to whose lists I would fondly hope each 
 year adds many, who believe that, whether high or 
 low their station, they have duties to perform in the 
 world apart from mere selfish gratifications, and who- 
 would blush to declare what I have twice heard gravely 
 said, ' I have only to get up in the morning and amuse 
 myself all day ! ' Louisa found something sweeter 
 than amusement in the performance of the active duties 
 she had marked out for herself, or perhaps, more prop- 
 erly speaking, had fallen into. She had made the 
 great discovery, that it is truer benevolence to assist 
 the poor to help themselves, than to bestow on them 
 gold and silver ; and though some people thought it a 
 great inconsistency, the fact remains, that she would 
 often give out dresses of her own to be made by the 
 chief dress-maker of Hartsdale, at the very time that 
 she was devoting morning after morning to patiently 
 instructing the children of the poor in the mysteries of 
 the needle and the thimble, in which she was a great 
 adept. Not that she neglected to perform the Christian 
 10
 
 146 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 duties of visiting the sick and feeding the hungry, but 
 her chief aim in all her exertions was to instruct the 
 young, and urge them to habits of self-dependence. 
 And, alas ! to own the truth, the poor of Hartsdale 
 were very numerous and very wretched ; they were 
 of that low class with whom beggary is held to be no 
 shame. 
 
 * And, Martha,' said Miss Somers one morning to her 
 servant, as, with only a garden bonnet to shade her 
 from the sun, and wearing a simple morning dress, 
 which nevertheless was anything but unbecoming, she 
 stood in the garden opposite the open laundry window, . 
 ' Martha, I have promised the widow Forster's girls 
 that they shall have the benefit of seeing you iron to- 
 day. You know you are the best clear-starcher in the 
 town, and I dare say they will be here directly. I had 
 to bribe them, it is true, by offering to pay them for 
 their assistance ; but take care you let them touch only 
 such things as they cannot spoil. Poor things, they 
 are sadly ' 
 
 But at this moment Louisa stopped, for, happening 
 to turn, round, she perceived a gentleman, a stranger, 
 just at her elbow. 
 
 4 Your pardon, Madam, for this intrusion,' he ex- 
 claimed, removing his hat with an air of perfect good- 
 breeding ; ' but as neither my groom nor I could 
 discover the bell, I have left my horse with him, and 
 ventured to enter at a side-gate which I found open. 
 I have the honor of bearing a letter of introduction to 
 Mr. Somers,' he added, ' and feel almost sure that I 
 have the pleasure of addressing his sister.' 
 
 Miss Somers led the way to the drawing-room, which
 
 THE HARTSDALE VINDICATOR. 147 
 
 in the curate's cottage was not very distant from the 
 laundry, but where books, drawings, and musical in- 
 struments, proclaimed that the young mistress found 
 time to cultivate the refinements of life, as well as dis- 
 charge its useful active offices. The stranger was Mr. 
 Percival, who had recently purchased the land by the 
 water's edge, and was erecting paper-mills thereon. 
 Louisa was not at all alarmed at her visitor, not even 
 surprised to find him a handsome and very agreeable 
 person ; though it is pretty certain the Hartsdalians in 
 general entertained much such a notion of him as chil- 
 dren deeply read in fairy tales may be supposed to do 
 of an ogre. 
 
 ' From the few words I accidentally overheard,' said 
 Mr. Percival, after chatting for a while on several more 
 general topics, ' I feel sure that in Miss Somers I shall 
 find no opponent to my views and wishes. You have 
 discovered that the mere donation of money and food 
 to the poor is but one way to increase pauperism, by 
 destroying all feelings of self-respect and self-reliance. 
 I foresee that you, madam,' he added with a smile, ' will 
 not think it harder for a strong girl to fold or smooth 
 paper for ten or twelve hours a day, than for her to 
 walk half a dozen miles to some great house and back 
 again in search of the refuse of the larder; and it 
 may even occur to you that the meal honestly earned 
 will in a very little time seem much the sweeter of the 
 two.' 
 
 ' I do think so,' replied Louisa ; * but I believe we 
 must act by the poor of Hartsdale in the same manner 
 as it is prudent to do with the higher classes of its 
 inhabitants we must let them perceive the advan-
 
 148 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 tages of these coming changes themselves, rather than 
 reiterate them from day to day. A prejudice is like 
 a porcupine, which only bristles up the more it is 
 attacked.' 
 
 Mr. Percival smiled at the simile, but heartily agreed 
 with Louisa. 
 
 In short, after a somewhat lengthened morning visit, 
 they parted, mutually pleased with each other ; he re- 
 joicing that he had found one Hartsdalian and that 
 the one of all others the most popular among the poor 
 with liberal and enlightened views, and she perceiv- 
 ing that, though a Revolution was at hand, it must, from 
 its nature, prove an entire Reformation. 
 
 The ensuing summer passed rapidly away, during 
 which time the paper-works were completed, and 
 operations commenced therein ; although the poor of 
 the place, so newly startled from the sort of lethargy 
 which had fallen on them, had not yet decided whether 
 work was good for them or not. During this summer 
 the monthly numbers of the Vindicator had duly ap- 
 peared ; yet it was remarkable that its violent party 
 spirit was somewhat tamed at any rate, the editor 
 had doubts if, after all, the mill might not prove a most 
 opportune relief to the working classes. Advertise- 
 ments connected with the railway crept in, affording 
 a curious illustration of expanding usefulness. But 
 among all the doings of that summer, perhaps not the 
 least important to the Hartsdale community was the 
 fact, that Mr. Percival had become a frequent and most 
 intimate visitor at the curate's cottage ; and although it 
 is quite certain he had the highest esteem and respect 
 for Louisa's brother, it is equally true, what the Harts-
 
 THE HARTSDALE VINDICATOR. 149 
 
 dalians had sometimes suspected, that he entertained 
 yet warmer feelings for Louisa herself. To own the 
 truth, the time appointed for their marriage was draw- 
 ing near a circumstance which will account most 
 satisfactorily for the unrestrained confidence now ex- 
 isting between them. 
 
 They were in the drawing-room of the cottage, the 
 scene of their first interesting conversation. Louisa 
 was seated near the window, with the last number of 
 the Hartsdale Vindicator in her hand, and Mr. Percival 
 was leaning over her chair, reading some paragraph 
 with her. Both smiled as their eyes met a moment 
 afterwards. 
 
 ' You know I have discovered you are quite a literary 
 lady,' exclaimed Mr. Percival ; ' so tell me, Louisa dear, 
 did you send that paragraph yourself?' 
 
 ' Vanity ! Do you suppose I should praise you so 
 much ? ' she replied archly ; but added in a moment, 
 ' Really and truly I have had nothing to do with it ; but 
 I told you long ago the worthy editor was coming round 
 to our opinion of things in general ; and here he shows 
 himself a wise and brave man, by owning he has been 
 in the wrong. 1 only hope this evident change in the 
 Hartsdale politics may increase the sale of the paper, 
 and so make up for past losses.' 
 
 ' Have they really lost so much by it ? ' asked Mr. 
 Percival, with evident interest. 
 
 ' Much is such a comparative word, I hardly know 
 how to answer the question ; especially to you who, in 
 all your concerns, have to speak of tens of thousands 
 rather than tens of pounds.' 
 
 * Ay, but tens of pounds are often as important in
 
 150 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 small undertakings as tens of thousands are in great 
 ones. Do you know, I have sometimes thought of 
 buying the Hartsdale Vindicator, employing a first-rate 
 editor to conduct it, and make it what we really want, 
 an important literary organ. Do you think this could 
 be done ? Do you believe the proprietors would sell it, 
 or sell the right of conducting it ? And, above all, do 
 you think this generous amateur editor could be per- 
 suaded to lay down his wand of office ?' 
 
 * I am certain he would be but too delighted to do 
 it,' exclaimed Louisa; ' for he owned to me the other 
 day that it cost him much time and labor, and inter- 
 fered sadly with his professional duties, which are 
 very much* on the increase since all the new villas are 
 inhabited, and the railway enables him to visit several 
 old patients who have removed. Dear Walter,' she 
 added with pride and animation, * you are really the 
 good angel of the place ! ' 
 
 ' My angelic doings are of a very matter-of-fact 
 mundane description,' he replied laughing ; ' but you 
 know I have some deep obligations to the Hartsdalians, 
 since I take their best and wisest all to myself.' 
 
 ' Her who has been a traitor in the camp all along, 
 you mean,' she said, smiling; 'did I not encourage 
 the Vindicator at first, only because I knew that the 
 more affairs were investigated, the more would the 
 true interests of the place be discovered ? If it could 
 have been shown that the old state of things was the 
 better one, I would have owned myself in error as 
 now some of our old friends have been brave enough 
 to do.'
 
 THE HARTSDALE VINDICATOR. 151 
 
 ' And it is for this very prudence that you are the 
 wisest,' repeated Mr. Percival. 
 
 Gladly did the proprietors of the Vindicator dispose 
 of their shares to the great capitalist, especially as his 
 offer was so liberal that it much more than remunerated 
 them for their temporary loss. Behold, too, their pride 
 in the first number brought out by the new potentate. 
 It had grown to double its former size, and was to be 
 published weekly : in fact, in outward appearance and 
 absolute literary importance, it now competed with the 
 County Herald itself that insolent rival, that had not 
 even deigned to notice its former existence ? No one, 
 however, spoke of the early, modest Vindicator with 
 contempt; on the contrary, its double-sheeted offspring 
 alluded in the most respectful terms to the service it 
 had rendered the entire county, and the skill and taste 
 with which it had been conducted ; and this was no 
 more than truth, for its unpretending columns, devoted 
 to subjects of local interest, had made the history, the 
 beauties, and the advantages of the valley more exten- 
 sively known than would have been likely to be the 
 case from any other means. The consequence was, 
 that capital was brought into the neighborhood, which, 
 distributed in wages amongst the poor, was exactly, in 
 its results, like a fertilizing stream to some arid desert. 
 The temporary inconveniences inevitable from a state 
 of transition are already nearly forgotten, or remem- 
 bered only to provoke a smile. As an omnibus runs 
 six times a day to the railway station, people have 
 ceased to miss the stages. It is true the White Hart 
 Inn is shut up, but very much more in consequence of 
 a temperance movement among the poor, than because
 
 152 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 the glories of the Telegraph have departed ; an event 
 most significant of the happy moral elevation of the 
 humbler classes. 
 
 The Misses Gunning are restored to the undisputed 
 possession of their carriage ; and, as if to make amends 
 for the trials to which poor Peter was subjected, he is 
 now relieved from all floricultural duties, since his mis- 
 tresses, having been tempted to invest some property 
 in railway shares, find an increase in their income, 
 which permits them to add a gardener to their estab- 
 lishment. Major Stukely was the last to hold out for 
 good old customs ; but having been twice detected in 
 walking to the station for the mere pleasure of seeing 
 the train come up, he owned there was something very 
 exciting and interesting in the contemplation of such 
 stupendous undertakings a confession which was 
 taken on all hands as, acknowledgment of a defeat. 
 In fact, Hartsdale bids fair to become a considerable 
 and important place, and to be as much distinguished 
 for its intelligence, activity, wealth, and general pros- 
 perity, as it was in the ' olden time ' for the wretched- 
 ness and ignorance of its poor, and the primitive 
 condition of its general inhabitants. It is almost be- 
 yond the power of art to destroy the features of a 
 really beautiful country ; and emotions arise in con- 
 templating the advancement of mankind, it may be of 
 a loftier kind than those which kindle at the sight even 
 of the most exquisite scenery.
 
 THE TEMPTERS AND THE TEMPTED. 
 
 ' The tempter, or the tempted, who sins most ? ' 
 
 SHAKSPERE. Measure for Measure. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 IT was an exceedingly comfortable dining-room, in 
 an exceedingly comfortable house. The month was 
 January, and the air was so clear and frosty, that every 
 step which passed seemed to ring upon the pavement. 
 Thick warm curtains, however, excluded all draught, 
 and the brightest of fires blazed in the polished grate ; 
 while the clear light of a pendant lamp shone upon 
 the dessert of chestnuts, in their snowy napkin, and 
 golden oranges. Amber and ruby-tinted wines spar- 
 kled through the rich glass which held them ; but the 
 ' comfortable ' party were only a trio Mr. and Mrs. 
 Dixon, and their son. They were people whom the 
 world had used very kindly, who had never had a real 
 trouble in their lives. No doubt they had imagined 
 a few ; and imaginary sorrows differ from real ones, 
 I believe, chiefly in this that they teach nothing, 
 unless, indeed, their indulgence teach and strengthen 
 selfishness. 
 
 Mr. Dixon was a fine-looking man, of about fifty,
 
 154 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 with rather a pleasing expression of countenance. He 
 was often visited by good, kind impulses, but a certain 
 indecision of character had made him fall under the 
 rule of his partner early in their married life ; and the 
 instances, during twenty-five years, in which his best 
 inclinations had been checked, were beyond all num- 
 bering. The lady, who was about five years his junior, 
 bore every trace of having been a pretty woman, 
 though on the petite scale. Yet there were people 
 who did not like her face ; and certainly, bright as her 
 eyes were, they put you in mind of March sunshine, 
 with an east wind blowing all the time. Her lips were 
 thin, and she had a trick of smiling, and showing her 
 white teeth very often, even when she said the most 
 disagreeable things. Richard Dixon, the son, bore 
 a strong resemblance to his mother ; though, if the 
 mouth were indicative of rather more sentiment than 
 she possessed, it also betrayed more sensuality. 
 
 ' This is a very serious charge, my dear,' said Mr. 
 Dixon, putting down the glass he had raised half-way 
 to his lips ; ' are you sure there is no mistake ? ' 
 
 ' Quite sure,' replied the lady 'quite certain Mary 
 must have taken it. I put the piece of lace at the top 
 of the drawer, and the key was never out of my pos- 
 session, except when I intrusted it to her.' 
 
 ' We never had a servant I should so little have 
 suspected,' returned Mr. Dixon. 
 
 ' Nor I either,' said the son ; ' and she is, out-and- 
 out, the best housemaid we ever had at least, the 
 best that ever has been willing to stay.' 
 
 Truth always hits hard, and the color rose to Mrs. 
 Dixon's cheek. She was one of those ladies who
 
 THE TEMPTERS AND THE TEMPTED. 155 
 
 cannot ' keep their servants.' 'Then bad is the best, 
 I am sure,' she exclaimed angrily ; ' and for my part 
 I am very glad she is going.' 
 
 ' And I am very sorry,' said her husband. ' But 
 why did you not tell me a month ago that you had 
 given her warning, instead of leaving it in this way to 
 the last moment ? ' 
 
 'Really I cannot see, Mr. Dixon, what you have to 
 do with these arrangements. I mention the circum- 
 stance now, because the girl is leaving to-night, and 
 because you will see a strange face to-morrow, and 
 would wish to know all about it.' 
 
 ' But what did she say, when you accused her of 
 theft ? ' 
 
 ' Accused her ! You don't suppose I sKould have 
 done such a foolish thing. A pretty scene there would 
 have been. I know the fact, and that is enough ; 
 you don't believe I should have got back the lace, do 
 you ? ' 
 
 ' But justice, my dear, justice ; surely you should 
 tell her your suspicions.' 
 
 ' Oh ! now that I have engaged another servant 
 now that she is going, you can tell her if you like. 
 But I don't see, myself, what use it is. She is sure to 
 deny it, and then there will be a scene and I hate 
 scenes as much as you do.' 
 
 At that moment there was a slight tap at the parlor- 
 door, and, obedient to the ' come in ' of Mr. Dixon, 
 the discarded Mary entered. She was a gentle-looking 
 girl, of about twenty, attired in a dark cloak and straw 
 bonnet. She came to take a dutiful leave of the family, 
 and to ask a question which seemed not to have oc-
 
 156 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 curred to the party before. In engaging herself with 
 any future mistress, and referring to Mrs. Dixon for a 
 * character,' what was she to give as the reason that 
 she was discharged ? 
 
 So innocent, so interesting did Mary look the tears 
 just starting to her eyes at the thought of leaving the 
 home of many months, 'and her cheek slightly flushed 
 that neither of the gentlemen could believe her 
 guilty. But Mrs. Dixon was in the habit of engaging 
 and discharging about a dozen servants a year, of one 
 sort or another, and was quite hardened against ' ap- 
 pearances.' 
 
 Mr. Dixon evaded an immediate answer to Mary's 
 question, by asking her whither she was going ? ' 
 
 ' I am going into a lodging, Sir.' 
 
 * That is a pity : have you no friends to stay with ? ' 
 
 ' My friends are all in Wiltshire,' said the girl, with 
 a sigh ; ' and besides that it would cost me a great deal 
 of money to go to them. I would rather look out for a 
 place than make a holiday.' 
 
 ' Your wages which I sent down to you, were quite 
 right, I believe ? ' said Mrs. Dixon, with an icy dignity 
 that was intended to close the conference. 
 
 ' Quite right, thank you, ma'am,' replied Mary, 
 with a courtesy ; ' but, if you please, when I go after 
 a place, what shall I say was the reason you dis- 
 charged me ? ' 
 
 ' I should think your own conscience must tell you,' 
 replied the lady, smoothing her braided hair with her 
 hand, as she had a trick of doing when she was 
 growing angry. Poor Mary turned pale at these 
 words, indefinite as they were, and could hardly
 
 THE TEMPTERS AND THE TEMPTED. 157 
 
 murmur 'Tell me, oh! tell me, what is it I have 
 done ? ' 
 
 Her change of color was to Mrs. Dixon evidence 
 of guilt ; and with a sort of horrible satisfaction at 
 this proof (to her) that she was right, the lady charged 
 the poor girl with the theft which she had just mentioned 
 to her husband. It was, indeed, a scene which follow- 
 ed a very piteous one. Mary uttered but a few 
 words of brief and emphatic denial far removed 
 from the loud asseverations which the guilty can some- 
 times deliver. Tears seemed driven back to her heart ; 
 and as she stood for a moment with clasped hands and 
 rigid features, she looked like a statue of woe. Rich- 
 ard Dixon was by no means unmoved. He had his 
 own reasons for believing her a girl of good principles. 
 Like many other more thoughtless perhaps, than 
 heartless young men, he never disguised his admi- 
 ration of beauty to the object, even if the revealing it 
 bordered on insult. And he remembered that Mary 
 had always received his idle compliments with a dig- 
 nity that repelled further rudeness, and with a deport- 
 ment that he should have admired in a sister. He 
 placed a chair near Mary, and begged her to be seated ; 
 but absorbed in her own misery, she took no notice of 
 the attention. Meanwhile, Mr. Dixon had poured out 
 a glass of wine, and offered it to her exclaiming ' I 
 must hope there is some mistake. I cannot believe this 
 of you.' 
 
 The word and act of kindness seemed to melt the 
 statue, and she burst into tears. But Mrs. Dixon felt 
 this would never do. It was time now for her to play 
 a more interesting part in the drama, and applying
 
 158 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 her filmy lace-bordered handkerchief to her eyes, she 
 leaned back in her chair, and sobbed out reproaches to 
 her husband for his cruelty in doubting her word. 
 Poor man ! what could he think what could he do ? 
 Chiefly, I believe, he resolved never never again 
 to interfere between two of womankind ; and hurrying 
 poor Mary to the hall-door, where a cab and her boxes 
 awaited her, he put a sovereign into her hand, as a 
 remembrance of her kind attention to the buttons of 
 his shirts, and such et ceteras. The gold dropped from 
 her grasp, as she exclaimed ' No, Sir, my char- 
 acter ! my character ! * 
 
 Mr. Dixon stooped for the money, and pressed it 
 upon her again till, trusting to his assurances that 
 he did not believe her guilty, and that he would see her 
 righted, she consented to accept it. 
 
 It is a subject of painful interest to ask how the hun- 
 dreds and thousands of female servants ' out of place,* 
 in this palpitating heart this great metropolis con- 
 trive to exist for weeks and even months together, as 
 they do, upon the scanty savings from their scanty 
 wages ? And plain as the auty is of employers not 
 to deceive one another, by giving an unjust character 
 of a servant, or hiding glaring faults, there is a ter- 
 rible responsibility in depriving a young woman of a 
 situation, which is not, I fear, generally sufficiently 
 felt. It seems too often forgotten that servants have 
 peculiarities of temper and disposition as well as their 
 mistresses, and that she who would not suit one family 
 might be admirably adapted to please another. Surely, 
 it is the most truthful, as well as the most humane 
 plan, in a mistress, to allude only to the moral attributes
 
 THE TEMPTERS AND THE TEMPTED. 159 
 
 of character ; judging charitably if there be no 
 knowledge darker than doubt of the general acquire- 
 ments. Sensible people may commonly get on well 
 with servants who speak the truth, and have a tolera- 
 ble share of brains : so much that is valuable must 
 follow in the wake. If one cannot have both, truth is 
 even more precious than sense. What was poor Mary 
 to do, robbed of her character for honesty ? 
 
 A day or two after her dismissal, she called upon 
 Mrs. Dixon, re-asserting her innocence, and imploring 
 her mistress to give her such a character as would pro- 
 cure her a situation. But the mistress was firm in her 
 resolve to tell the circumstance to any lady who might 
 call just as it had occurred. It would be tedious to 
 narrate the trials of the friendless girl. How one 
 stranger would have received her into her house, but 
 for this unfortunate episode revealed by Mrs. Dixon ; 
 and how, on Mary defending herself with tears and 
 entreaties, the half-convinced lady declared she would 
 have taken her, had Mary told the story at first. 
 Prompted by this assertion, in her next application she 
 confessed the suspicion which attached to her; but 
 there is very strong esprit de corps among mistresses, 
 and they very seldom think each other wrong. The 
 lady could not fancy Mrs. Dixon had been mistaken. 
 It was after these sorrows that the thought occurred to 
 her of applying to the mistress with whom she had 
 lived previously to her service with Mrs. Dixon, and 
 who had discharged her only in consequence of reduc- 
 ing her establishment. Alas ! she had left the neigh- 
 borhood, to reside near a married daughter ; but, as 
 they had paid every bill with scrupulous exactness, not
 
 160 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 one of the tradespeople could tell her whither they had 
 gone. The nearest intelligence she could gain was, 
 ' Somewhere in Kent.' Poor Mary ! her last anchor 
 of hope seemed taken from her. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 WINTER had given place to Spring ; but though the 
 frost no longer bleached the pavement, or crisped all 
 moisture, and though the sun seemed struggling to 
 warm the atmosphere, there was a cold wind which 
 would have rendered warm garments very acceptable, 
 and which blew through the thin shawl of a young girl, 
 as she stood at the corner of a street, talking to a friend 
 a few years older than herself. The latter appeared 
 more a favorite of fortune than poor Mary, for she was 
 the shivering girl. Now millionaires can afford to 
 dress in rusty black, and a great many of the sterner 
 sex are either careless to slovenliness about their equip- 
 ments, or disfigure themselves by a horrible taste ; but 
 it may be taken as a general rule, subject to but few 
 exceptions, that women especially young and pretty 
 ones dress as well as their means will permit. 
 Hence the warmer, richer clothing of Mary's com- 
 panion proclaimed her better off in the world. 
 
 ' It must come to that, or worse,' said Mary, with a 
 shudder, and the tears stood in her eyes, which shone 
 with that strange glassy lustre that often accompanies, 
 perhaps reveals, intense mental suffering. ' After all,
 
 THE TEMPTERS AND THE TEMPTED. 161 
 
 as you say,' she continued, ' it would not be a false 
 character, for I never wronged any one of a farthing's 
 worth in my life. If it could be managed if I could 
 but get a place ! ' 
 
 4 Oh, it can be managed, never fear. Do you sup- 
 pose that 1 could not act the fine lady, when I have 
 acted at a real theatre for three seasons, and done much 
 harder things, I can tell you. I don't say but what I 
 shall expect you to do me a good turn some of these 
 days, if I should want it.' 
 
 'What can I ever do for you,' exclaimed Mary 
 * you, who are so much above me ! ' 
 
 Poor Mary ! how sadly had her heart been warped 
 by Temptation, how sadly must her self-respect have 
 been lowered before she could have formed such an 
 estimate of herself fallen, or falling, as she already 
 was ! Perhaps it were best not to inquire what were 
 the probable services this unprincipled woman expected 
 in return for giving the false character. It is hardly to 
 be supposed that she had sought the acquaintance of 
 the friendless girl without some selfish plan or motive. 
 They stood talking a few minutes longer, and then 
 walked away in different directions : the elder with 
 the confident air of one who had carried herself suc- 
 cessfully through many schemes of deception ; the 
 other, trembling and abashed at the first breaking down 
 of the barriers of integrity. Oh ! ye thoughtless 
 women in your homes of ease ye, whose breath can 
 give or take away reputation be merciful in your 
 judgment of her, and pause welt ere, on some similar 
 occasion, you drive a helpless female to desperation. 
 11
 
 162 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 Oh ! it was pitiful, 
 Near a whole city full, 
 Friend she had none. 
 
 Mary had no longer the means of returning to her 
 family in Wiltshire ; she was already reduced to pov- 
 erty's sad extremity, and had that very morning con- 
 veyed her warm cloak to the safe keeping of the 
 pawnbroker. Besides, how could she have borne to 
 go as a disgraced pauper among the large poor family 
 to which she belonged ? among those who had looked 
 with such pride upon their ' sister in service in 
 London ? ' 
 
 And yet, notwithstanding her many griefs, and the 
 gaunt figure of absolute Want which loomed upon her, 
 and was drawing nearer and nearer, she had refused 
 assistance only the day before from her ' young mas- 
 ter,' whom she had chanced to meet in the street, and 
 who had accosted her, apparently with much sym- 
 pathy. From him she had learned that Mrs. Dixon 
 was as implacable as ever ; yet, though he pressed 
 silver, and even gold, upon her, let us be thankful she 
 was still hedged round by the feelings of delicacy 
 and feminine propriety, which forbade her accepting 
 money from ' an admirer.' Surely, the world-hardened 
 Tempters do not always know the dreadful work they 
 are about ! 
 
 ' If you please, ma'am, do you know of a place ? ' 
 was the inquiry of Mary, about an hour after she had 
 parted with her new acquaintance. She had entered 
 a respectable-looking baker's shop, in one of the great 
 thoroughfares. 
 
 ' What sort of a place ? ' said the mistress, a good-
 
 THE TEMPTERS AND THE TEMPTED. 163 
 
 tempered, good-looking young woman, of seven or 
 eight and twenty, who was just then sweeping the 
 counter with a hand-brush, with great activity. Mary, 
 by the way, had observed at a glance that shop, and 
 counter, and hand-brush, and all appurtenances, were 
 what everything belonging to a baker's shop should be, 
 exquisitely clean and neat ; and that the mistress her- 
 self, in her snowy cap, and light-colored cotton dress, 
 was a pattern of neatness. 
 
 ' 1 could take a housemaid's place, ma'am,' replied 
 Mary, ' or servant of all-work in a small family.' 
 
 ' Lor ! I wonder if you would suit us ? ' said Mrs. 
 Allen, the baker's wife ; ' we sent off our servant in a 
 great huff last night, and I have no one to do a stroke 
 for me, except the nurse girl, and she has enough to do 
 with three children to mind. Could you come directly 
 to-day, I mean ? ' 
 
 'Yes, ma'am, to-day, if you like.' 
 
 Then followed the ordinary questions, and, of course, 
 among them 'Where did you live last?' 
 
 ' With Mrs. Smith, ma'am, No. 20, Street. 1 
 
 Alas, alas, poor Mary ! 
 
 ' And can you have a good character?' 
 
 * I am sure I can, ma'am. I only left because Cap- 
 tain Smith was obliged to go with his ship, and Mrs. 
 Smith did not want two servants any longer.' 
 
 ' Well, wait here in the shop a bit, while I go and 
 speak to my husband. James, James,' she continued, 
 calling from some stairs which led to the bake-house, 
 ' I watft you.' And up there came a portly-looking 
 man, with shirt-sleeves tucked up, and his arms cov- 
 ered above the elbows with flour and dough. The
 
 164 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 Aliens were a happy couple, well to do in the world, 
 and in good humor with it and themselves. An atten- 
 tive listener might have heard something about ' tidy- 
 looking girl : think she'd just do : but here it's Friday : 
 I am sure I never can get out for her character either 
 to-day 'Or to-morrow.' 
 
 'That's a pity,' said the husband. 
 
 ' If we could but be sure of her honesty, I wouldn't 
 mind taking her, and then going for her character next 
 week. What do you say, James?' 
 
 ' My dear, how can we be sure ?' 
 
 ' She wouldn't be so stupid as to say she could have 
 a good character if she were not honest,' replied the 
 wife, whose mind seemed veering very much towards 
 trying her. 
 
 ' That 's true,' exclaimed the baker, as if a new light 
 were let in on the subject. 
 
 ' Come and see her,' said the wife. 
 
 There were two or three customers waiting in the 
 shop, but during Mrs. Allen's short absence, her second 
 child, a little girl of about three years old, had ' made 
 friends' with Mary, and was clinging to her hand, and 
 looking up in her face, as if she were an old acquaint- 
 ance. It may be that this was the feather which pleased 
 the parents, and turned the scale. 
 
 The feelings with which Mary learned that she was 
 to be received in this unusual manner, and that the 
 falsehood which was planned would not be acted for 
 three days to come, at least, were something like those 
 we may imagine a culprit to entertain, when he receives 
 a respite of his sentence. A dim hope would make 
 itself felt, a dim hope that something would occur to 
 prevent it being carried into execution.
 
 THE TEMPTERS AND THE TEMPTED. 165 
 
 With what wonderful activity Mary set to work, or 
 how anxiously she strove to please, words cannot easily 
 tell. But the Lie was a haunting Presence that seemed 
 to banish even the hope of happiness. The honest 
 baker and his wife were evidently well satisfied with 
 their new servant. The advantage, by which she had 
 profited, of living in a family belonging to a higher sta- 
 tion, enabled her to do many things in a superior way ; 
 and the Aliens were people to appreciate all this. 
 And the neat and nice manner in which she served the 
 Sunday's dinner, of which a couple of friends partook, 
 was duly commented on. Then the children ' took to 
 her* amazingly, and the circumstance of her discover- 
 ing a half sovereign which had strangely escaped from 
 the till, seemed to give them the most perfect confi- 
 dence in her honesty ; so that, when on the afternoon 
 of Tuesday, the appointment having been duly made 
 with the fictitious Mrs. Smith, Mrs. Allen was equip- 
 ped in a handsome silk dress, ready to go ' after 
 Mary's character,' she almost felt that it was a mere 
 form, so certain was she of the girl's acquirements and 
 integrity. 
 
 This was a dreadful moment to Mary. She felt as 
 if her quickly-beating heart sent the blood to the crown 
 of her head ; and that the next instant it receded, and 
 left her ready to faint; while all the events of her 
 troubled career rushed in strange distinctness before 
 her, even to the history she had learned of the baker's 
 former servant having been discharged for telling a 
 falsehood. But then he had said ' We would have 
 forgiven her if she had not persisted in it ! ' 
 
 By an uncontrollable impulse, as Mrs. Allen was
 
 166 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 leaving her parlor, Mary seized the skirt of her dress, 
 and throwing herself on her knees before her, ex- 
 claimed, amid a passionate torrent of tears ' It is 
 your goodness that has saved me ! Oh, hear me, hear 
 me ! ' And then, in broken phrases, she poured out 
 the story of her trials and temptations. 
 
 Sad was it to see the altered looks of her benefac- 
 tors, and to hear the cold and mournful tone in which 
 Mrs. Allen said ' So, you have deceived me after 
 all : you would have cheated me with a False Charac- 
 ter;' and the good and naturally kind-hearted woman 
 sank on her chair, overcome with the surprise. 
 
 ' We cannot help you,' said the baker sternly. 
 
 'Mercy mercy!' exclaimed the poor girl, and, 
 weak from recent scanty fare for she had been too 
 wretched to eat during even the few days that abun- 
 dance had been before her she fainted outright. 
 When she came to herself she was stretched on a sofa, 
 with master and mistress both leaning over her. There 
 was pity on their faces, and tears rolled down Mrs. 
 Allen's cheeks. In loosening her dress, in their en- 
 deavors to restore her, they had come upon a packet 
 of pawnbroker's duplicates, the dates of which, and 
 the nature of the articles pledged, were a touch- 
 ing confirmation of her story. From the 'cornelian 
 brooch,' so easily dispensed with, to the necessary 
 cloak, and a prayer-book, the mournful chain was 
 complete. 
 
 ' We will not turn you away,' said the baker, ' just 
 yet : we will try you a little longer.' 
 
 ' Your goodness has saved me ! ' was all the stricken 
 girl could utter.
 
 THE TEMPTERS AND THE TEMPTED. 167 
 
 ' But,' continued he, ' my wife will go immediately 
 to your real mistress, and hear her version of the story. 
 Certainly your confession is voluntary, and I do not 
 believe you are hardened in deception.' 
 
 Mrs. Allen set off, and the distance being consider- 
 able, she was gone upwards of two hours. What an 
 eternity they seemed to the poor servant ! 
 
 ' Well, my dear,' exclaimed the baker, when at last 
 she returned, ' what do you think ?' 
 
 ' Why I think, James, that a great many people who 
 call themselves ladies are no ladies at all. Would you 
 believe it, this Mrs. Dixon has found the piece of lace 
 she accused the girl of stealing found it slipped be- 
 hind the drawer, or something of the sort ; and except 
 for her own regret at sending away a good servant, I 
 don't think she feels her wickedness a bit. Poor girl, 
 I cannot help pitying her. It was very wrong to 
 attempt to cheat us with a false character, but it's my 
 belief we none of us know what we should do if we 
 were sorely tempted. And besides, you see she was 
 not equal to carrying out the deception.' 
 
 * Let us keep her,' was the baker's emphatic re- 
 joinder. 
 
 ' Why, I don't know that we can,' said Mrs. Allen. 
 4 Mrs. Dixon says she'll take her back, if she likes to 
 go, for the lady has had three housemaids since she 
 left, and you know it is a much grander place than 
 ours. At any rate, she promises to give her an excel- 
 lent character.' 
 
 ' Did you tell this Mrs. Dixon about the intended 
 false character ?' 
 
 'No, I didn't; for I soon found out how matters
 
 168 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 were, and I felt I should have been wicked to do the 
 girl a further mischief.' 
 
 ' Quite right, my love,' said the baker. 
 
 Mary was called in, and the facts related. With 
 tearful joy, and amid thanksgiving to Heaven, she im- 
 plored that her benefactors would allow her to stay with 
 them, rejecting, with something like scorn, the idea of 
 a 'grander' place. Faithfully has she now served 
 them for years ; and promoted to the dignity of shop- 
 woman, she is looked upon rather as a tried friend 
 than anything else. But even in the sunshine of hap- 
 piness she never forgets that it is the ' goodness,' as 
 she calls it, of the baker and his wife which have 
 saved her. 
 
 Alas for the rarity 
 Of Christian Charity ! 
 
 How often would a generous trust save the sorely 
 tempted I
 
 A TALE THAT WAS TOLD TO ME. 
 
 ' Restore the Dead, thou Sea.' 
 
 MRS. HEMANS. 
 
 AMID scenes of strange adventures, dauntless daring, 
 appalling dangers, and unimagined perils, I believe 
 every one, from the idiosyncrasy of his own mind, 
 finds a peculiar interest in some one particular range 
 of subjects ; and it may be that the eagerness with 
 which we read or listen when such scenes are de- 
 scribed is the evidence of a taste which, with over- 
 indulgence, would grow morbid, or of an enthusiasm 
 quite capable of becoming extravagant. I confess to 
 such a weakness myself. I can listen with compara- 
 tive calmness to the most exciting narratives of all 
 land expeditions and adventures, whether they include 
 an Alpine ascent or an encounter with banditti ; a 
 lonely march on the wild Prairie, or the passage of a 
 caravan across the scorched and scorching Desert. 
 But directly the wanderer lifts his foot from the dry 
 land, and trusts himself to the slumbering Ocean, 
 a new train of feelings has birth, and the interest 
 in a stranger's safety quickens into something really 
 approaching personal sensation. 
 
 Let the red earth of battle-fields proclaim trumpet- 
 tongued their story, and the trampled human clay rise
 
 170 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 up in judgment to bear it witness. The tale is bla- 
 zoned on history's page through the long course of 
 the rolling centuries ; the courage of Action always, 
 and of Endurance sometimes. But the glittering 
 tinsel wreath of glory only hides the ghastly Moloch- 
 idol War ; and I am dull at perceiving the subordinate 
 heroism whose leading spring is mean ambition, avarice 
 or hate. Such heroism, too, finds always a chronicler ; 
 but Ocean is for the most part the keeper of its dread 
 secrets, and only from the faint breath which now and 
 then floats across the waves may we guess at the human 
 agonies the remorseless waters have at once created 
 and extinguished ! Perhaps it is this vagueness the 
 certainty that stranger tales remain untold than any 
 which rumor has caught and echoed which lends so 
 strong an interest to stories of shipwreck or disasters 
 at sea, appealing to the unsatisfied imagination until it 
 aches with the realization of the scene. And yet what 
 deeds of s%lf-denial and noble self-devotion are regis- 
 tered* and stand forth in their lovely radiance, to 
 redeem and vindicate mankind ; alas ! beside those 
 awful revelations of brute selfishness to which it would 
 seem that inferior natures are reduced in the hour of 
 imminent peril ! But this is a long introduction to the 
 tale that was told to me. 
 
 There were more passengers on board the good 
 ship Falcon than I should care to number. Many were 
 young, and for the most part buoyant with hope, as 
 became the living freight of the ' outward bound.' 
 
 India is not looked upon exactly as it was even 
 fifteen or twenty years since. People are not quite 
 sure that gold is to be picked up there for the stooping,
 
 A TALE THAT WAS TOLD TO ME. 171 
 
 or that diamonds are showered down at the feet of 
 Europeans ; but still there is a prevalent notion, vague 
 enough sometimes, that fortune is more easily wooed 
 beneath the orient heavens than under that soberer sky 
 which canopies the spot of earth called England 'a 
 spot indeed ! rising from the blue waters just large 
 enough to be a throne whence delegates are sent to 
 rule the world, and to which her children-wanderers 
 look up with loving loyalty. Well is it that youth is 
 prone to build its fairy castles, and does not dream of 
 early death, or lingering, life-sapping disease, or of 
 enervated mind the irremediable penalties too often 
 paid for all that the tropics can give. And so the 
 ardent cadet has more often a vision of knighthood 
 and crosses of honor than of ' sick leave' and blighted 
 hopes ; and the merchant thinks less of an arid and 
 forgotten grave, than of returning in manhood's prime 
 with the gold that he teaches his heart shall recom- 
 pense love for its long and lonely martyrdom. ' 
 
 Among the passengers of the Falcon, however, was 
 one not exactly belonging to the usual category of 
 outward-bound adventurers. Mr. Francis Ray ton had 
 made his fortune in India, and that in a very few 
 years. He was something under forty, and had suf- 
 fered less from the climate than most English residents 
 in Calcutta. Nevertheless, his physicians had recom- 
 mended the long sea-voyage in preference to the 
 overland route, since it was absolutely necessary that 
 he should, for a few months, return to wind up mer- 
 cantile affairs, in which tens of thousands of pounds 
 were involved. His active, energetic mind demurred 
 at this decision for awhile ; yet he gave way, for
 
 
 
 I 
 
 172 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 health had never seemed so precious as now that 
 fortune had made hope reality, and all the beautiful 
 things of life were opening to him. Francis Rayton 
 was not a common character; and eager, almost 
 greedily, as he had sought wealth, he had never sought 
 it as an end. 
 
 Caroline Smythe was a girl of twenty, the daughter 
 of a general officer, going out under the protection of 
 a widowed friend, to join her parents. She had the 
 beauty of youth, and a little beauty besides ; with all 
 the pride of what the Spaniards call ' blue blood ;' and 
 that pride, in addition, which I never yet found wanting 
 in a soldier's daughter. She would not have married 
 a merchant if life and death had hung in the balance, 
 for she would not have suffered her own heart to touch 
 the beam ; but she was a coquette to that heart's core, 
 and Francis Rayton was by far the handsomest and 
 most intellectual man on board the Falcon. How was 
 it possible she could refuse to gratify the chief lesoin 
 of her existence ? 
 
 Helen Seymour was making the voyage without 
 other protection than that of the blunt but kind-hearted 
 captain. Perhaps she did not require any at all. She 
 was not very young; sometimes she looked about five- 
 and-twenty, at others you would have taken her for 
 thirty at least. She was neither handsome nor beau- 
 tiful far less could she have been called pretty ; that 
 term would have seemed at once a something too much 
 and too little to award her. Yet she was not plain. 
 Her figure was good ; she had a small, white, well- 
 shaped hand, and most people thought she had a 
 ' nice ' face ; but few knew the expression which,
 
 A TALE THAT WAS TOLD TO ME. 173 
 
 when happy or animated, beamed through her eyes, 
 flushed in her cheek, and quivered round her lips. 
 Few, because happiness had been doled out to her 
 most scantily, and she was not of that lucky temper- 
 ament which can find excitement in trifles, Helen had 
 already outlived her nearest relations, and she was 
 poor ; going out to India to educate the children of a 
 second cousin, who entertained the romantic notion 
 of bringing them up in one of the healthier northern 
 settlements, instead of following the commoner plan, 
 and tearing her own heart-strings by sending them to 
 England. 
 
 Two more individuals will complete the cluster it 
 is necessary to describe. James Lawson had been 
 for some years a confidential clerk or agent to Mr. 
 Rayton, and was now going out to be left in a situa- 
 tion of considerable trust in the Calcutta establishment. 
 His wife and infant child were with him ; and as they 
 made home of any spot of earth, he did not pretend 
 to sentimental regrets at leaving his native land for a 
 long and indefinite period. The young couple had 
 struggled through the early trials of poverty ; and 
 their affection had previously been tested by absence 
 and a long engagement ; but now, after three years of 
 wedded happiness, and bright fortune shining steadily 
 in the horizon, life seemed something more precious, 
 more soul-satisfying than even youthful dreams had 
 pictured it. The Lawsons were quiet and retiring in 
 their deportment; for, with a feeling which has quite 
 as much pride as humility in it, they were conscious 
 that they were only recently lifted a step or two in 
 society. But Helen Seymour had an intuitive knowl-
 
 174 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 edge of character ; and knowing them very speedily, 
 could not help being interested. Scarcely cultivated 
 enough in mind to be congenial companions to her, 
 she yet honored them most truly, and in witnessing 
 their affection, felt as if something in which she had 
 before half blindly believed was now made known to 
 her. There was a manly tenderness in his behavior 
 towards his wife, as far removed from lover-like adula- 
 tion as it was deeper in its springs and dearer to her 
 heart manly, for that same tenderness, the very 
 exhalation of true heart-love, is an attribute that never 
 does emanate from the vain, selfish egotist, or the friv- 
 olous butterfly of the world, or from the not more 
 manly slave of his own ardent passions. And then, 
 on little Fanny's part for she was a little creature, 
 and looked up to him literally as well as figuratively 
 the entire devotion, and perfect unbroken, unclouded 
 confidence, were something beautiful to witness ; and 
 with the constant ministering of each to the other, 
 made up a spectacle the most delightful in the world 
 to the quick eye of the poet-philosopher ; and Helen, 
 however humble in the ranks, yet, like many others, 
 who had never ' penned their inspirations,' belonged to 
 that class. 
 
 It would fill a volume to detail, scene by scene, how 
 intimacies were formed between some of the parties I 
 have named. Amid the nearly incessant occupation of 
 his past life, Mr. Rayton had had very little opportu- 
 nity of mixing in female society, or perhaps that which 
 he had met in India had not been sufficiently attractive 
 to induce him to make opportunities and cultivate it. 
 Even while in London, business had pressed so heavily
 
 A TALE THAT WAS TOLD TO ME. 175 
 
 upon him, that some of his oldest and most valued 
 friends he had neglected to visit. But life on board 
 the Falcon, where at least no post came in or went 
 out, was comparative leisure ; and he was hardly sen- 
 sible how much of that leisure was in reality filled up 
 by conversation with Helen Seymour. Some mysterious 
 affinity of feeling and opinion seemed to have drawn 
 them together ; and yet there were two or three of 
 the attributes against which he had entertained a posi- 
 tive prejudice. For instance, he had always thought 
 politics quite out of the scope of a woman's reasoning ; 
 yet when he found Helen's mind familiar with the 
 great truths of humanity those truths to the expo- 
 sition of which his ardent yet half secret ambition 
 lured him the earnestness of life, and the thousand 
 topics which must branch from such conclusions, he 
 could not but acknowledge, though not without sur- 
 prise, that her sympathy and companionship were 
 none the less delightful because she was a woman. 
 
 It was not in a coquette's nature to look calmly 
 on while the object she had selected for a flirtation 
 showed an evident preference for an 'old maidish' 
 rival. Caroline certainly knew nothing of politics 
 beyond having been taught to scorn, with all the hate 
 of ignorance, the very party to which Rayton belonged ; 
 if, indeed, one of so wide and comprehensive a mind 
 could have narrowed it to the jealousies which seem 
 inseparable from party feeling or connection. But she 
 had a trick of appealing to him for information, and 
 throwing herself on his forbearance, in that pretty, con- 
 fiding, feminine manner, that is by no means without 
 its fascination ; and it was not easy to meet the glance
 
 176 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 of her soft large hazel eyes, as, with a toss of her 
 head, she threw back her clustering ringlets, and made 
 acknowledgments, at the same moment, of any mental 
 deficiencies. Caroline had nothing in the past but 
 school-girl days and her numerous conquests to 
 remember, and the present seemed made to enjoy ac- 
 cording to her fleeting inclinations. Helen had felt, 
 and seen, and suffered had lived all her past, and for 
 the future was brave to endure and high principled to 
 act. Francis Rayton stood between a good and an 
 evil genius, and had he questioned his own heart he 
 would have discovered the fact. But he did not do so 
 he had always looked on love as an episode in a 
 man's life, and one that should only be indulged in on 
 a proper occasion. Now this occasion he had for 
 years been accustomed to consider his final settlement 
 'in England ; and so he suffered himself to be swayed 
 by the impulse of the moment, and what is so very 
 foolishly called chance. 
 
 Weeks had passed they expected to touch at the 
 Cape in a day or two. 
 
 ' Pray take my arm for a turn on deck this delicious 
 evening,' said Mr. Rayton, approaching Helen, who 
 was standing near one of the lady passengers. Helen 
 never sought any particular attention from him, but 
 perhaps shS did not quite conceal that it gave her 
 pleasure to receive it. 
 
 ' I never beheld so beautiful a sky,' she exclaimed, 
 pointing to the horizon, where the moon was rising, 
 like an orb of gold, out of the dark waters. ' And the 
 sea,' she continued, 'slumbering like a gentle friend, 
 instead of the cruel tyrant which we know an hour 
 might make it.'
 
 A TALE THAT WAS TOLD TO ME. 177 
 
 ' Nay,' said Rayton, ' do not let us think of storms 
 and danger. Our voyage has hitherto been so pros- 
 perous, and I have such faith in the Falcon, that 1 do 
 not suffer myself to dream of disasters.' 
 
 * You speak with all the confidence of an old voy- 
 ager,' replied Helen, smiling ; ' but beyond a steam- 
 boat excursion of a day or two, this is my first 
 acquaintance with ' blue water,' and I am not yet sure 
 how far I confide in it.' 
 
 This allusion to steamboat excursions led to reminis- 
 cences of Helen's continental travel ; and though she 
 had often spoken on the subject before, to Rayton's ear 
 there always seemed something new to tell, for she 
 described scenes he had ardently longed to visit. Pos- 
 sibly some vague notion crept into his mind that she 
 would be a charming companion amid the ruins of em- 
 pires, in the galleries of art, or wherever the spirit of 
 poetry hovered. Talking of Art led, I cannot tell how, 
 though 'it often does to the subject of Love; and 
 Helen spoke with the frankness of a true-hearted 
 woman, who was far too honest to feign either indiffer- 
 ence or ignorance of the theme. And so they con- 
 versed earnestly, not flippantly, on the great Lottery of 
 Life, from which so few prizes and so many blanks are 
 drawn or rather, over which it would seem some evil 
 destiny presides to mismatch the assorted pairs. It 
 might be fancy, but each thought there was a slight 
 quiver in the voice of the other, and a modulation that 
 made the tone different from that of ordinary discourse. 
 There was something, too, in the solemn grandeur of 
 the moonlit ocean that well accorded with the sentiment 
 which ruled the hour ; for if the loveliness of nature 
 12
 
 178 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 fails among coarser clay to awaken the loftiest sympa- 
 thies of humanity, its contemplation always ' feeds the 
 flame ' where once it is kindled. Again Francis Ray- 
 ton and Helen Seymour spoke of tempest and ship- 
 wreck ; but now the theme was blended with stories of 
 heroism and devotion, and of the loving hearts that had 
 gone down together. Even Rayton the busy money- 
 winner, the man of the world though capable of 
 deeper sentiment and purer passion than he himself 
 was aware acknowledged that there might be cases 
 in which such a death would be sweeter than all life 
 could give to the solitary survivor. 
 
 4 Of this I am sure,' he exclaimed, 'that the impulse 
 of the moment, while it ruled the conduct, would be the 
 test of the heart's affection.' 
 
 Was it impulse, or accident, or absence of mind, that 
 made him press for an instant, almost with an interlac- 
 ing of the fingers, the ungloved hand which rested on 
 his arm ? 
 
 On the second finger of that hand, Helen constantly 
 wore a beautiful emerald ring, nearly the only orna- 
 ment of value which had been remarked about her, and 
 which she had on one occasion spoken of as her dearest 
 memorial, that of a dead sister. 
 
 Rayton's little finger was encircled by a curious 
 antique cameo. 
 
 They were silent : but the silence to one heart at 
 least had a delicious meaning. It was broken by a 
 voice close at hand. 
 
 ' Oh, Mr. Rayton,' said a tall cadet, a boy in years, 
 but longing beyond all things to be considered a man 
 ' Oh, Mr. Rayton, pray come and try your persua-
 
 A TALE THAT WAS TOLD TO ME. 179 
 
 sions with Miss Smythe ; she won't touch her guitar for 
 all we can beg and implore. But every one says a 
 word from you will be sufficient.' 
 
 ' Really, they do me honor,' replied Rayton, hesi- 
 tating, and not at all grateful for having his tete-d-lete 
 broken. 
 
 ' Pray go,' said Helen, with a beautiful smile ; for 
 she was one of those women as incapable of feeling 
 mean petty jealousy, as she was of herself giving cause 
 for it. 
 
 He went ; and the sullen beauty relented at what 
 were, after all, but common-place compliments. She 
 sang several French and Spanish love-songs, now 
 archly, now pathetically ; and as the evening waned, 
 Rayton found himself drawn into the vortex of frivolity, 
 and lavishing all his petits soins on the coquettish 
 Caroline. Helen was not present, either to share his 
 attentions, or distract him from them. Fresh from that 
 interview, she could not have joined the general society 
 of their fellow-passengers. She lingered for some 
 time on deck, and if as she leaned her head on 
 her hand and gazed upon the heaving waters her 
 reverie had been translated into words, it would have 
 run thus : 
 
 * So good so noble ! so true I am sure. Oh, 
 that we had met years ago I could have made him 
 happy, and helped him to be great. Yet now if it 
 were possible ' and she pressed her hands to her side, 
 as if to still her heart's wild beating, then covered her 
 face with them ' at least it will be happiness enough 
 for me to love him yet could I endure he should 
 love another ? ' And reverie melting into prayer, she
 
 180 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 ejaculated, ' Oh, God, have mercy upon me ! the first 
 love of ignorant youth is faint and flickering now I 
 know that it is the last love which is destiny ! ' 
 
 But the breeze had freshened ; for long unnoticed 
 by Helen till she shivered in her light mantle, and 
 then she sought her cabin, and her flushed cheek 
 pressed the pillow, while still the one reverie prevailed 
 the beautiful reverie of the ideal made palpable 
 dissolving from time to time, as before, into the devout 
 petition, ' Oh, God have mercy upon me ! ' 
 
 And the breeze still freshened ; but those who were 
 wearing away the hours with song and mirth and idle 
 speech, heeded it not, and in a few hours even they 
 sought slumber ; and all were dreaming, sleeping or 
 waking dreams, save the watchful crew who guarded 
 and guided the floating palace. 
 
 But the breeze still freshened ; and there were heav- 
 ings and rollings of the stately vessel, that made rest 
 and slumber difficult or impossible. And there were 
 noises overhead ; and the trampling of many feet, and 
 the hauling of ropes, and the quick command some- 
 times the angry word and muttered imprecation. And 
 behold when morning dawned there was a murky sky 
 above, chequered from time to time by the swiftly 
 driving clouds, that seemed but the servants of the 
 fierce capricious winds. The treacherous ocean, lashed 
 to fury, heaved and foamed in monstrous billows round 
 the devoted ship ; and the shrieking cry of the sails, as 
 they split like paper, was scarcely to be distinguished 
 amid the roar of the tempest ! Terror and anxiety 
 had set their seal on every countenance ; brave men 
 grew pale and silent, and timid women wept and prayed 
 aloud.
 
 A TALE THAT WAS TOLD TO ME. 181 
 
 Very few were so calm as Helen Seymour; she 
 spoke words of hope and encouragement to the fearful 
 and fainting; exhorted even thorough sailors to do 
 their duty with brave composure, and seemed by her 
 own example to instruct all to meet with resignation 
 the will of Providence, yet to use all human means to 
 avert disaster. A terrible calamity was at hand ; the 
 skilful captain and two men at his side were swept by 
 one huge and sudden wave into the surging waters. In 
 a desperate attempt to rescue them, a boat and more 
 lives were lost. For awhile the very will of those 
 who were next in command seemed paralyzed, and 
 confusion reigned. It was during' this time that 
 Helen applied herself to assuaging the sufferings of 
 a poor woman who had been injured by the fall of a 
 mast, rending her own dress to bind up the bleeding 
 arm. 
 
 Francis Rayton gazed at her from time to time, and 
 spoke to her occasionally ; but mingling with his ad- 
 miration, a feeling almost of awe crept over him. She 
 seemed something above himself even beyond his 
 comprehension ; yet ever as her eyes met his, there 
 was a light of faith and trust and almost gladness shone 
 from them, which was more divine than that of any 
 earthly hope. 
 
 Lawson and his wife sat hand in hand ; at intervals 
 large silent tears rolled down poor Fanny's cheeks, 
 which more than once he kissed or wiped away; and 
 he had wound a large scarf around her in such a 
 manner that it supported the infant in her arms, and 
 held it inextricably there. Caroline Smythe had been 
 of the crouching, weeping party, though possibly too
 
 182 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 ignorant to be really conscious of their absolute peril ; 
 and sometimes she appealed to Rayton, as if his word 
 were a fiat, or clung to his arm, as if there dwelt pro- 
 tection. 
 
 One disaster followed another, till the Falcon, like 
 some noble animal maimed and shorn of its limbs, lay 
 almost a helpless log upon the waters; and soon the 
 catastrophe dreaded from the first was fatally realized. 
 The ship struck upon the rocks, and the only hope of 
 dear life rested with the boats. The crash of noises, 
 cries, and prayers, and bursts of passionate agony, 
 made up a scene of terror, such as sharers or wit- 
 nesses have often attempted to describe. 
 
 'Quick quick, Miss Seymour,' said Rayton, ap- 
 proaching Helen, and taking her by the arm, ' there is 
 not a moment to be lost think not of property, let 
 us save only ourselves.' 
 
 'Let me,' replied Helen, (us she was nearly saying,) 
 * wait for the second boat I can be of use here.' 
 
 And she spoke truly ; she was of that great use 
 which a calm and superior mind always is in swaying 
 inferior natures. She was exhorting to composure and 
 cheering with hopeful words a party of steerage pas- 
 sengers, who but for this influence might have added 
 to the struggle and confusion around. At this moment, 
 wild with terror, yet looking very beautiful neverthe- 
 less, Caroline Smythe rushed towards Mr. Rayton, and 
 sank almost fainting into his outstretched arms. The 
 profusion of her rich dark hair, which curled in natural 
 ringlets, fell over his shoulder, and, borne by the tem- 
 pest-blast, streamed across his face. Helen Seymour 
 looked up, but she met not his gaze ; Rayton 's eyes
 
 A TALE THAT WAS TOLD TO ME. 183 
 
 were fixed on the chiselled features of the deathlike 
 countenance that almost touched his cheek. ' Speed 
 speed,' was the cry on every side, and, swayed by 
 the ' impulse of the moment, 1 Francis Rayton placed 
 Caroline in the boat, and, yielding to her murmured 
 persuasion, stayed beside her! 
 
 Now seemingly ingulfed in the waters, then rising 
 on the crest of a foaming billow, the first boat sped on 
 towards the shore, while the second was rapidly filling 
 with half desperate fugitives. There was a general 
 cry that the women should be saved first. 
 
 ' My love my life ! ' exclaimed Fanny Lawson, 
 clinging to her husband with passionate agony ; 
 ' swear to me that we shall not be parted ; swear that 
 you will not urge me to enter the boat if there be not 
 room for both.' 
 
 But for only answer, while he supported her with 
 one arm, he pressed the other hand to his eyes, as if 
 he dared not look upon her. ' Come come,' said a 
 sailor, attempting to lead her away ; but Fanny had 
 fainted, and Lawson, taking her in his arms as if she 
 had been a child, pressed a frantic kiss upon her 
 motionless lips, and bore her away towards the boat. 
 Like a bale of merchandise was she passed from hand 
 to hand, while Lawson flung himself upon the deck of 
 the fast-filling ship, in the utter prostration of his agony. 
 A sailor was assisting Helen Seymour to step across 
 masses of cordage and fragments of various kinds ; her 
 countenance was of a deathlike paleness, and her lips 
 were compressed by some firm determination. Yet 
 even in this hour of life and death, she stooped to pick 
 up an object which had rolled towards her feet ; it was
 
 184 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 Francis Rayton's cameo ring, which must have dropped 
 from his finger. 
 
 ' Lawson ! come quickly,' said Helen, speaking 
 rapidly, yet with wonderful calmness. Then, as they 
 approached the edge of the vessel, and addressing the 
 crew, who were only waiting for her, she continued : 
 ' I yield my place to James Lawson ; let not two 
 loving hearts be parted.' 
 
 There was a hush of wonder and admiration, even 
 amid the terror of the moment ; but events might have 
 changed their course, had not Fanny recovered her 
 senses, and seeing only that her husband hesitated 
 joining the fugitives, without comprehending why, she 
 stepped on the edge of the boat with the gesture of one 
 who would fling herself from it. By an instinct rather 
 than a process of reasoning, her husband stretched to- 
 wards her, and, falling back, she drew him after her. 
 
 ' Do not grieve for me,' said Helen Seymour, as the 
 boat was loosened from the wreck, and for the tem- 
 pest had lulled her clear tones were heard distinctly. 
 ' Do not grieve there is still a chance of rescue for 
 me ; but if I die, I do so willingly. Yesterday life was 
 precious to-day it is valueless.' 
 
 Alas ! the one remaining chance was desperate ; as, 
 indeed, her generous heart foreboded. The last and 
 smallest boat was not seaworthy ; it filled and went 
 down even in the attempt to launch it. Some three or 
 four sailors still remained on the wreck ; and warmed 
 to self-sacrifice by Helen's example, they tried to 
 construct a raft for her security ; but materials were 
 wanting, and with blank countenances they gave up 
 the attempt in despair. ' Waste not time and strength
 
 A TALE THAT WAS TOLD TO ME. 185 
 
 for me, my friends,' said Helen, in a clear low tone ; 
 you are strong swimmers, and have a chance of life. 
 For me it is the Death Hour ; and though death comes 
 with few terrors, I would meet it alone in silent, 
 prayerful thought. It is sweet to know the father is 
 not torn from wife and child three human beings 
 made happy.' And -while she spoke, she wreathed one 
 arm round so much of the shivered mast as remained, 
 as if she had taken her final stand in the sinking ship. 
 One of the sailors clung to her hand, and kissed it, 
 swearing it were best to die with her, and seek her 
 angel intercession at the gates of heaven ; and another 
 implored her to trust to his strong arm, that should 
 struggle with her towards the shore. 
 
 ' No life shall be risked in saving mine,' she said, 
 firmly ; and indeed the few minutes which had re- 
 mained for parley were soon over, and as each, by the 
 strong instinct of self-preservation, sought some stay 
 among the floating spars around, the last object they 
 beheld was Helen's white dress and upturned coun- 
 tenance, as she sank, without a struggle, into the deep 
 waters. 
 
 No matter how the boats careered landward, and the 
 strong swimmers reached the shore with life. A trem- 
 bling, grateful band uplifted their souls in praise and 
 thanksgiving. 
 
 Helen's corse was washed to the beach with the next 
 flow of the tide ; that form which had enshrined, per- 
 haps, a greater heart than dwelt among the rescued. 
 Her action, her words had been repeated from mouth 
 to mouth ; and many were the tears shed around her 
 many the kisses pressed upon her pale cheek and
 
 186 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 brow. Fanny Lawson flung herself beside the body 
 in an altitude of worship ; and her husband's lip quiv- 
 ered with manly emotion. Even the child was made 
 to kiss the dead, and a strange hope indulged that it 
 might remember the scene. Francis Rayton had re- 
 quested that he might look upon her remains alone. 
 He entered the shaded chamber, where she lay in 
 white garments ; her rich light hair, still dank from the 
 ocean baptism, parted from the forehead, and reaching 
 in long lines below her waist. Her countenance bore 
 an expression of angelic serenity : and she looked 
 young oh, so much younger than when swayed by 
 the hopes and the fears, and the passions of life ! On 
 her finger still rested the emerald ring ; but next to her 
 hand, and guarded by that precious memento, was 
 Rayton's cameo, evidently in the death hour yet more 
 dearly cherished. Rayton had not shed tears since 
 boyhood, but as he gazed he burst into a passion of 
 weeping; then, when something like calmness was 
 restored, he drew away the emerald, and placed it' on 
 his own finger. To the authorities he intimated that 
 he would pay to her representatives any price which 
 might be set upon it ; and requested that the cameo 
 might not be removed from the dead. No one dis- 
 puted his right to direct ; and by his order, a monument 
 of white marble has been erected above that African 
 grave, bearing the simple inscription : 
 
 ' TO THE MEMORY OF A MOST NOBLE WOMAN.' 
 
 Rayton did not proceed to Calcutta in the same 
 vessel which conveyed the remainder of the passen- 
 gers ; it would seem, indeed, that he purposely avoided
 
 A TALE THAT WAS TOLD TO ME. 187 
 
 their companionship. He returned to England as 
 speedily as possible ; is still unmarried immersed 
 in politics and speculations. Once, when a most dear 
 friend questioned him on his mode of life, he answered 
 bitterly, quoting a line from Tennyson's passion- 
 kindled poem : 
 
 ' I myself must mix with Action, lest I wither by Despair.'
 
 THE STORY OF A PICTURE. 
 
 IN the year eighteen hundred and something, Henry 
 Cummins awoke one morning and discovered what 
 very much surprised ' the world ' when they heard it, 
 and almost astonished himself, namely that he was 
 penniless ! In three years he had run through the 
 savings of a life ; for his father, a plodding man of 
 business, had bequeathed above thirty thousand pounds 
 to his only child, having previously given him what 
 is called ' a good education ' a term which is, alas ! 
 too often a sad misnomer. What is commonly called 
 a ' good ' education, sometimes turns out to have been 
 a very ' bad ' one. Although a tradesman, old Mr. 
 Cummins had an amiable weakness, (if weakness it 
 must be called,) yclept family pride, and his anxious 
 hope was, that Henry would resuscitate the honor of 
 the family. Yes, he belonged to a family which had 
 been renowned through several generations ; but as, 
 virtue and honor do not always fill the purse, and 
 in this unromantic age it is found absolutely neces- 
 sary to pay butchers and bakers, it was thought advis- 
 able for a younger branch of the genealogical tree to 
 strike fresh root in the plebeian but extremely invig- 
 orating soil of trade. Mr. Cummins had been the
 
 THE STORY OF A PICTURE. 189 
 
 younger branch destined for this healthful process, and 
 Henry had been intended for the bar, the father's 
 dreams of course picturing him on the woolsack. 
 But a lavish allowance for his pocket, and the gratifi- 
 cation of every wish not absolutely vicious, while yet 
 in his teens, were not precisely the means to render 
 him a steady or a studious man. He was twenty 
 when his father died, and he came into uncontrolled 
 possession of his property a year afterwards ; so, con- 
 sidering that he found it quite impossible the first year 
 to live on four times the sum that his trustee allowed 
 him, and that he did contrive, and not very mysteri- 
 ously, to borrow some thousands during that period, 
 it is not surprising that at the end of three years, as we 
 have said before, he awoke one morning and found 
 himself without a penny. He made other discoveries, 
 too, at the same moment. He found, that, paying 
 the price of his whole fortune, he had not, after all, 
 purchased happiness ; and when the first stunning sen- 
 sation of extreme wnhappiness and affliction which his 
 different discoveries occasioned had a little abated, 
 there sprang up in his mind a wonderful growth of 
 good resolutions for the future, and some sort of inward 
 assurance, which was better than all, that told him he 
 he had energy enough to carry them out. 
 
 But the question was, what first should be done ? 
 After a little while all visionary plans and specula- 
 tions melted into the one strong sense of the necessity 
 of selling at once horses and carriages, house, fur- 
 niture, and every species of available property, with 
 the proceeds of which he hoped to discharge debts 
 still outstanding, and have perhaps a trifle to begin
 
 190 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 the world with. Now, abstractedly, a chair is but a 
 chair, a table but a table, yet every one will allow the 
 power that even inanimate objects possess of twining 
 themselves around the heart, until a final separation 
 is absolutely painful. Henry Cummins was perfectly 
 aware of this fact, as on the morning of the sale he 
 walked through every room of his house, for the last 
 time, among his household gods. There they were, 
 every one ticketed, and standing uncomfortably for- 
 ward, as if they had already taken leave of their 
 master, and were inviting themselves to the notice of 
 the strangers who walked through the rooms. Had 
 the weather been dull and cloudy, nature would have 
 seemed in unison with the spendthrift's feelings ; but 
 the sun streamed in most unsympathizingly, as if to 
 mock his anguish, and (what perhaps he also observed) 
 to throw a very unbecoming degree of light upon 
 faded damask, cracked china, and tarnished gilding. 
 It is possible that he might have given a rough guess 
 at the different prices which might have been expected 
 had a cloudy sky veiled such imperfections, yet it was 
 not that which made his cravat feel something too 
 tight, or produced the nervous twitches which might 
 have been remarked about his mouth ; for though 
 tears those exhalations of intense agony, a man's 
 tears did rise to his eyes, pride drove them back. 
 It was very strange that his father's arm-chair, or 
 his mother's work-table, should produce such emotions, 
 and yet they oppressed his heart most strongly when 
 he observed a stranger pause, with all the assurance in 
 the world, to examine a certain old picture. Now, it 
 chanced that this was about the only thing to which
 
 THE STORY OF A PICTURE. 191 
 
 the sunshine was favorable, for without streaming upon 
 it, a flood of light nevertheless illumined the apart- 
 ment, and, coming from the right direction, brought 
 out beauties that might otherwise have remained un- 
 observed. 
 
 It was, indeed, an exquisite painting no matter by 
 which of the old masters ; and it had belonged to the 
 Cummins family for several generations. It was a 
 landscape scene with figures; the season bright gor- 
 geous summer ; and the picture was among Henry 
 Cummins' earliest recollections and associations. In 
 the days of frocks and pinafores he had played before 
 it, looking up sometimes, and almost wondering if the 
 shadows would ever grow longer, or the knot of har- 
 vest people ever finish the day's labor. And in years 
 later than those of frockhood, he had tried his daring 
 hand in copying the great original, only, it must be 
 confessed, to throw palette and brushes away in dis- 
 gust ; and in recent times he had pointed out its 
 beauties to admiring visitors, while it had been the 
 silent witness of his follies silent, surely, because he 
 would not listen, for now to the mind's ear it spoke 
 trumpet-tongued reproaches. There it hung, in its 
 old fashioned frame, ticketed No. 27. Had that ticket 
 supernatural powers ? for verily, to the vision of 
 Henry Cummins, the figures seemed starting to life, 
 as they looked down sorrowfully and reproachfully at 
 him. The stranger whose glance the picture had 
 arrested, was a little old gentleman, dressed in brown, 
 who held by the hand a beautiful girl of about twelve 
 years old. The fairy-like child was soon satisfied with 
 looking at the picture, and slipped her hand from that
 
 192 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 of her grandfather, the better to observe a china mon- 
 ster, which had caught her attention ; and then the 
 little old man drew out his spectacles, stepped some- 
 what nearer to the painting, and putting his arms 
 behind his back, and clasping with one hand the wrist 
 of the other, stood for full five minutes in a dream of 
 delight. He was aroused from it by a joyous laugh of 
 the child, for the grotesque image had been irresisti- 
 ble. The child's laugh grated on the heart of Henry 
 Cummins almost as much as the bright sunshine had 
 done ; and though he gazed at her full in the face, as 
 she shook back the thick curls which shaded it, and 
 besought ' grandpapa ' to buy the green and purple 
 monster, he certainly did not perceive she was the 
 most beautiful object in the room if the truth must 
 be told, he thought her a noisy, troublesome child. 
 
 The little old gentleman promised to buy the mon- 
 ster, and telling Julia that the sale would commence in 
 half an hour, he led her down stairs, and put her into 
 a carriage which was waiting, and which quickly drove 
 off. All this Henry Cummins beheld from a window, 
 though he could not hear what directions were given 
 to the coachman. However, in another minute the 
 little old gentleman had returned to the drawing-room, 
 but he passed by the picture without noticing it again, 
 and after giving rather an indifferent glance to some 
 other objects, seated himself within a few paces of the 
 auctioneer's desk. Henry Cummins wondered if he 
 meant to bid for the picture, and felt almost decided to 
 buy it in himself; but he did not wish to make himself 
 known to the auctioneer, and so determined to bid as a 
 stranger. The sale began, and the china monster,
 
 THE STORY OF A PICTURE. 193 
 
 which was in the first page of the catalogue, was 
 knocked down to the little old gentleman. It had been 
 run up to a sum far beyond its value, for the purchaser 
 had shown he was determined to have it. Perhaps he 
 took a hint from this circumstance, or, perhaps he was 
 in reality an experienced bidder, and had only from 
 some accident been off his guard in a trifling matter ; 
 however this might be, when the picture was put up for 
 sale the old gentleman's voice was not heard at all. 
 It is true the auctioneer must have received, from time 
 to time, telegraphic dispatches from somebody, as, 
 without the bidders being always heard, ' going 
 going ' was followed by higher and higher offers. 
 At last, as if himself out of patience, the auctioneer 
 sharply let fall his mystical symbol, even before Henry 
 Cummins could determine on an advance, and a nod of 
 the head proclaimed that the picture belonged to the 
 little old gentleman. He looked remarkably happy, 
 for he would willingly have given hundreds for that 
 which he had purchased for thirty-five pounds. Once 
 more he approached the painting, gazing now with a 
 sort of parental admiration ; but this time Henry Cum- 
 mins was at his elbow. A quick beating of the heart 
 had superseded the thickness in his throat as the latter 
 exclaimed ' Sir, I will give you twenty pounds for 
 your bargain ! ' 
 
 ' Sir, I would not take fifty,' returned the other. 
 
 * What will you take ?' rejoined Henry. 
 
 ' Nothing you can offer. Sir, 1 mean to keep the 
 picture ; ' and the old gentleman clasped his arms 
 behind his back, in his favorite attitude of determina- 
 tion. 
 
 13
 
 194 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 ' I was deputed by Mr. Cummins,' exclaimed Henry, 
 after a moment's pause, ' to buy in this painting ; it 
 is much prized by him, having many old family asso- 
 ciations, and at the last moment he repented having 
 offered it for sale. You would not have had it, Sir, 
 had the auctioneer been a second less quick in his 
 decision.' 
 
 4 Lucky for me, lucky for me, that he was so sharp ; 
 and I have nothing to do with the repentance of such a 
 young scapegrace as Mr. Henry Cummins.' 
 
 ' Do you know him, Sir ?' 
 
 ' Enough to know that the picture is much safer in 
 my possession than in his. I suppose he is going to 
 turn shoe-black, or something of that sort ; he can't be 
 fit for anything better, I should think.' 
 
 ' They say he is going to India a friendless, 
 moneyless adventurer.' 
 
 4 Eh ! what ! well, it is never too late to reform ; 
 but I can't let him have the picture for all that. Good 
 morning, Sir ; my carriage is waiting.' 
 
 There are mysterious chords in our nature, which 
 trifles may sometimes awaken to the holiest purposes ; 
 and the feelings which this incident drew forth formed 
 the key-stone to the strong arch of Henry Cummins' 
 good resolutions an arch which spanned his future 
 life. He had hitherto, like thousands of young men in 
 similar circumstances, lived a life of pure heedlessness 
 taking no thought of the morrow ignorant of the 
 value of money and concerned only in the paltry 
 and fleeting enjoyments of the senses ; but while his 
 long, and fond, and earnest farewell gaze rested upon 
 that picture, he understood, for the first time, that we
 
 THE STORY OF A PICTURE. 195 
 
 have duties in this world to perform, beyond mere 
 enjoyment or the maintenance of one's own existence, 
 and he turned away calmer, more collected, almost 
 happier, than he had felt for many a day. 
 
 Ten years passed away, bringing about their strange 
 revolutions ; ripening youth to manhood, and tainting 
 the pride and vigor of maturity with decay sweeping 
 many a loved one from our hearth, but weaving fresh 
 ties around the heart, as a ruin that is supported by the 
 sweet young flowers which twine there ; and yet the 
 older we grow, the more stubborn are such tendrils, 
 though, if they do enwreath themselves, it is with ties 
 that can scarcely be severed. Ten years, then, work- 
 ing their wondrous changes, had passed away, when, 
 on a bright sunshine morning, a stranger arrived at one 
 of London's regal-looking hotels. He was a passenger 
 from India, by the good ship Ariel, and there came in 
 his train a due proportion of those ponderous packages 
 and chests with which the Anglo-Indians very properly 
 encumber themselves perhaps as containing a sort of 
 ransom money with which to buy back the regard and 
 affection of which absence may have robbed them. 
 
 The stranger at the , however, had few friends in 
 
 England, although he brought home several chests; one 
 especially the cognoscenti would have selected at a 
 venture, as containing the most precious deposits, 
 though its solid black leather exterior might have 
 seemed unpretending to the inexperienced. Now, if 
 the truth must be told, the stranger had returned to 
 England for three especial reasons; two will be told 
 presently, the other was to find a wife ; and the ' black
 
 196 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 chest' contained gifts for this imaginary being who, 
 of course, would be worthy to be robed with the delicate 
 filmy muslins of Dacca (fit for Titania and her court), 
 or to move beneath the graceful folds of the soft and 
 peerless Cashmere. 
 
 But we must return to the little old gentleman, men- 
 tioned long ago. Ten years seemed to have passed 
 him by with a very slight and friendly greeting. 
 There sat Sir James Howard, so very like his former 
 self, that one might have fancied the suit of brown he 
 wore was the identical apparel alluded to before ; per- 
 haps a very keen observer might have remembered 
 that, ten years ago, there were a few dark hairs amid 
 the snow-drifts of time, whereas now all were white ; 
 perhaps, too, his habitual stoop was a little more re- 
 markable, and his hand (that great test of age) a little 
 more wrinkled ; but the bright, intelligent, good coun- 
 tenance, seemed just the same as ever. His house was 
 a short distance from London, and he sat in a favorite 
 morning room, the walls of which were decorated with 
 gems of art ; books, also, were there, not too formally 
 arranged ; and the French windows opened into a 
 flower-garden, admitting the summer breeze laden with 
 sweets. A servant entered with the card of ' Mr. Henry 
 Cummins,' and Sir James desiring him to be admitted, 
 the stranger entered the room. Simultaneously with 
 offering his apologies for intruding, the latter glanced 
 round the apartment, while an anxious expression 
 gathered upon his countenance. 
 
 * I fear, Sir James, I am scarcely remembered,' 
 exclaimed Henry. And Sir James put his finger to 
 his brow as if to invoke recollection, before he replied,
 
 THE STORY OF A PICTURE. 197 
 
 ' The name is familiar to me, though I cannot exactly 
 tell how.' 
 
 ' You you Sir James, you purchased a picture 
 that once belonged to me.' 
 
 ' You ! Are you that Mr. Cummins ?' rejoined Sir 
 James, eyeing his visitor from top to toe, with a look 
 that plainly indicated he remembered Henry's early 
 career, and the circumstances which had led him to 
 predicate that the ' s scapegrace ' must turn shoe-black.' 
 That could not have been the occupation of the gen- 
 tlemanly, indeed distinguished-looking, person now 
 before him ; and Sir James recollecting, with the 
 lightning flash of thought, every particular connected 
 with the sale, gave a shrewd guess at the object of 
 Henry Cummins' visit, and grew a little out of tem- 
 per. Yes, as faithful historians, we must confess he 
 felt cross ; for, as the sun has spots, so the dear, good, 
 little, old gentleman had one fault he was, on par- 
 ticular subjects, of an irritable temper. The picture 
 he still retained, and prized highly. Inclination was 
 at war with the promptings of his own kind, warm, 
 fresh, evergreen heart, and the more the former suc- 
 cumbed, the more peevish in manner did he grow. 
 
 It is almost needless to hint that the object of Henry 
 Cummins' visit was to regain it at any pecuniary sacri- 
 fice. He was a proud young man, and yet he bore 
 the reproaches with meekness which Sir James could 
 not help insinuating, and owned his errors frankly. 
 1 1 can assure you, Sir James,' he said, ' when I sought 
 for and accepted a situation in India from an old friend 
 of my father, it was with the most anxious desire to 
 redeem past errors errors which, I may take leave
 
 198 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 to say, were of the head, not of the heart ; and in all 
 my exertions in that distant field of enterprise, I was 
 not less animated by repentant feeling than by the 
 hope and belief of regaining the picture which fortune 
 had made yours ; in short, that picture has been the 
 soul of my reformation. I am now blessed with the 
 means of independence ; and here, then, I appear with 
 the wish to gain back the object of my long-cherished 
 desires.' 
 
 Sir James was not unmoved by the ingenuous 
 appeal ; but he was inexorable. Henry, in some 
 respect, felt himself to be ill-used ; yet of what should 
 he complain ? Surely, a man has a right to retain the 
 purchase he has lawfully made. Although continuing 
 obdurate to all offers, Sir James had the condescension 
 to ask his visitor to walk into the drawing-room to look 
 at the picture. Henry followed, trembling ; for while 
 it was unredeemed, he felt the painting would gaze 
 upon him like a reproving spirit. There it was, in the 
 centre of one side of the room, and provided with a 
 new and gorgeous frame; the light, too, was most 
 favorable. What memories did it bring back to the 
 spendthrift's mind ! His mother's gentle touch, her 
 loving kiss his father's counsel the voices of early 
 friends and the forms of all and scenes of long, 
 long ago seemed vividly to pass before him. Like 
 the buried cities which lay for centuries at the vol- 
 cano's foot, so there are thoughts and feelings which 
 rest entombed beneath, not destroyed by, the lava 
 ashes of time and circumstances. , To his heart and 
 fancy the figures did not look at him reproachfully as 
 he had expected them to do, but seemed to wear an
 
 THE STORY OF A PICTURE. 199 
 
 expression more of sorrow than of anger, and he felt 
 that he would have given much to be alone with the 
 picture for an hour, for Sir James stood by him, with 
 his arms clasped behind as formerly, muttering audi- 
 bly, ' No, I will never sell this picture.' 
 
 Poor Henry was summoning his courage for the 
 leave-taking, and gazing like a lover at a mistress who 
 could never be his, when a joyous laugh, evidently pro- 
 ceeding from the adjoining room, fell upon his ear ; it 
 jarred upon his spirits, and seemed almost as discordant 
 as that he well remembered ten years before. The 
 voice and laugh were peculiar, and he felt certain 
 the tiresome child was near. Of course, a moment's 
 thought convinced him that the child must be now a 
 woman ; but he felt almost sure she had red hair, had 
 a strong impression that she squinted, and associated 
 her as well, in some incongruous manner, with a 
 laughing hysena. One more appeal before he de- 
 parted ; it was this : ' Sir James, if I survive you, 
 will you direct your executors to sell me the picture ? 
 or will you give me the power, in case I should die 
 first, of willing it into my family, by any pecuniary 
 arrangement with my heirs and yours which you may 
 like to make ? ' 
 
 4 Well, perhaps, it may be yours after my death.' 
 
 And so they parted. 
 
 Poor Henry Cummins returned to his hotel vexed 
 and disappointed. He had taken the precaution of 
 leaving his address with Sir James, in case the latter 
 should change his mind, which did not, however, 
 appear a very probable event. Out of spirits, and 
 perhaps a little out of humor, the day dragged wearily
 
 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 on. In the evening he strolled out for an hour, and 
 bethought himself of walking down the street in which 
 was his former home. The old house, which he had 
 left bare and tenantless, was now lit up for a party; 
 it seemed as if everything that day were destined to 
 assume an uncongenial unsympathizing air ; and he 
 bent his steps homeward more desponding than ever. 
 On his arrival he found a huge packing case in his 
 apartment, and a note from Sir James Howard. The 
 eccentric old gentleman kept his word he did not 
 sell the picture, he gave it to a reformed spendthrift ! 
 Yes, there it was, and in the old frame too. To be 
 sure, some people might have hinted that the hand- 
 some one was reserved for another favorite, but they 
 would have done Sir James injustice. He knew human 
 nature well, and he knew that the kindly feeling dis- 
 played in the preservation and recollection even of an 
 old picture-frame would not be lost on the heart of 
 Henry Cummins. 
 
 Our space forbids us to describe minutely Henry 
 Cummins' second visit to Sir James Howard ; how the 
 cheerful aspect of the different apartments failed now 
 to oppress or deject him ; or how even a certain laugh 
 seemed musical. But the second visit was not the last, 
 for the reformed spendthrift had won an eccentric but 
 sincere and lasting friend. He was introduced to Julia, 
 and assuredly there was nothing about her to recall his 
 former unfavorable impression. Her eyes were as 
 straight as his own, (and they were rather handsome 
 ones,) but of the deep blue of a violet, and her hair 
 of that sunny brown that even ' an enemy' would call 
 auburn. They became intimate, and Henry grew to
 
 THE STORY OF A PICTURE. 201 
 
 delight in the rich voice and joyous laugh; and Julia 
 had a heart, and could weep sometimes : 
 
 ' For the heart which is soonest alive to the flowers, 
 Is always the first to be touched by the thorns.' 
 
 One day he sat beside her at the piano, and remark- 
 ing (not for the first time) that her hands were whiter 
 than the ivory, he bethought him of a certain dia- 
 mond which was in the 'black chest' among other 
 unset gems, and he was sure it could never find so fit 
 a home as on one of those snowy fingers. It was 
 presented accepted; and as the chest was opened, 
 he found, among other half-forgotten treasures, an 
 ivory work-box, looking as if it belonged to her ; there 
 was room for her name on it, and he thought of having 
 Julia Howard engraven, but he recollected she might 
 marry, and so the blank space remained. In another 
 week some other thought caused the black chest to be 
 again inspected ; but when he came to close it, the 
 contents had been so much disturbed, that without re- 
 moving an embroidered cashmere, the lid would remain 
 *obstinately gaping. He took out the cashmere, paused 
 for a moment, smiled, as if some agreeable thought 
 occurred for the first time and and Decca muslins, 
 cashmeres, boxes, fans, card-cases, attar, chains, rings, 
 unset diamonds, &-c. &c., found but one mistress. In 
 less than three months from that day, more pretty 
 things than one were engraved Julia Cummins. 
 Thus were two of the ardent wishes of Henry Cum- 
 mins accomplished, and the third was in his own 
 power to fulfil. Although the career in India, which 
 had blessed him with an ample fortune, had unfitted 
 him to pursue the study of the law, he understood that
 
 202 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 conduct sheds as much lustre on a family as the display 
 of talents : that was in his power ; and if vanity is 
 sometimes pained by the recollection of the name he 
 might have won, he owns that the punishment is just, 
 though, while he regrets the past, he feels gratefully 
 happy that he has redeemed it. So true is it that 
 ' there is a future to all who have the virtue to repent 
 and the energy to atone.'
 
 WORKING GENTLEWOMEN. 
 
 MOST country houses I mean those spacious and 
 commodious dwellings which descend from generation 
 to generation in the families of the wealthy classes 
 have their picture galleries ; and I scarcely know any- 
 thing more suggestive of touching memories and 
 dreamy speculations than the contemplation of the 
 portraits they contain. One has generally some scanty 
 knowledge of the names and histories of the originals, 
 just enough to pique curiosity without satisfying it, 
 and the mind insensibly wanders into the vague re- 
 gions of fancy. Through this cloud-land, however, 
 which bridges the past and the present, we soon pass ; 
 and if we are inclined to take a common sense view 
 of things in general, we shall arrive at many just con- 
 clusions, none the less just and true that we may be 
 ignorant of actual details. 
 
 That stately darne who flourished in the days of the 
 powdered peruke, black patch, and formidable farthin- 
 gale notwithstanding the most absurd dress which 
 ever disfigured humanity looks what she was, a 
 devoted wife and affectionate mother. A certain soft- 
 ness in the eyes, and a few lines about the mouth, 

 
 204 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 predispose us to like her ; and we are not at all sur- 
 prised to hear, that she could hardly be reckoned a 
 woman of fashion in her dissipated day, for she went 
 to court seldom, and neither gambled, nor disagreed 
 with her husband. She was one of Napoleon's 'great 
 women,' being the mother of a large family, six sons 
 and five daughters. They all married, and some what 
 the world calls badly.' The ' Hall' and lands 
 passed to the oldest son, and are still owned by his 
 descendant. The appanage for her younger children 
 was but scanty ; the tide of fortune ebbed from some, 
 and flowed towards others ; and the great-great-grand- 
 children of that stately lady are scattered over the 
 world, removed from each other less far less by 
 mountains and oceans, than by the difference of their 
 stations ! 
 
 The destiny of Men rests so much on their own 
 energy and abilities, that subject to a few distress- 
 ing exceptions it may be taken as a rule, that they 
 mount the wheel of fort me according as they pos- 
 sess those qualities : but Women are so differently 
 constituted, that, when suddenly thrown into the vor- 
 tex of the world to struggle for existence, they are 
 often the most estimable who first sink in the conflict. 
 
 Among the startling contrasts which meet us at 
 every turn of our social existence, 1 know not one 
 more striking than the difference between the posi- 
 tion of a young girl in the middle station of life, sup- 
 ported by her parents, enjoying all the pleasures and 
 privileges of a home, yet toiling scarcely more than 
 the ' lilies of the field,' and the condition of one, 
 who, belonging to the same sphere, nurtured in the 
 
 *
 
 WORKING GENTLEWOMEN. 205 
 
 same manner, educated on the same system, is com- 
 pelled in the untried season of youth, in the blooming 
 period of her existence, to encounter the frowns of 
 the world, and wrest her daily bread from its iron 
 grasp. Let us dwell on the two pictures for a little 
 while, and try to exclude all cross lights of false sen- 
 timent, that would obscure our vision and warp our 
 judgment. 
 
 I am afraid we must confess that the seeming hap- 
 piness of the one is often less real than the calm of a 
 lethargy, and less secure than the dwelling x>f him 
 who builds on the smiling side of a volcano. Too 
 many old ' school people ' think that ignorance of 
 evil, and indifference to the wide world beyond her 
 own narrow circle, are the best palladium for a young 
 woman's respectability and well-being ; but even if 
 they were so which we do not allow this protec- 
 tion could not last for ever ; and the longer error and 
 ignorance cling to us, the harder are they to part from, 
 thus revenging truth and knowledge when we slight 
 their precious teachings. 
 
 The end and aim of a girl's life is not, surely, to 
 work Berlin slippers, play indifferently on the piano, 
 sing out of tune, draw out a perspective, read bad 
 novels (there can be no objection to good ones) over 
 the fire in winter, and on the Ramsgate sands in sum- 
 mer ; and to consider it an extreme point of useful- 
 ness to hem her brother's handkerchiefs, trim her own 
 straw bonnet, and write, by ' Mamma's ' directions, 
 notes of invitation, when necessary. 
 
 Vaguely, much too vaguely for her to reason on, or 
 describe her emotions, the young girl is conscious of
 
 206 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 the fact, and would be less content were it not for the 
 expectation of a future this future being, almost 
 invariably, Marriage. Very rational is this expecta- 
 tion, for by far the larger proportion of women do 
 marry ; but destiny holds a few single ; and if a more 
 enlightened system than generally prevails were pur- 
 sued, the latter would have more resources in their lone- 
 liness, and wives would come to their new duties and 
 new positions with infinite advantages. Injudicious mar- 
 riages, too, would often be avoided ; a mind occupied 
 with duties or pursuits that ennoble or expand it, is not 
 very likely to be the slave of a sudden or unworthy 
 passion ; and though it is doubtless very unromantic 
 to say so, the most enduring attachments are certainly 
 those which the reason and judgment approve. 
 
 The striking contrast to which I have alluded is 
 that between the too often listless, half occupied ex- 
 istence of the ' young lady,' who chases ennui by a 
 course of trifling pleasures, which very soon pall on 
 superior natures, and, on the contrary, become to infe- 
 rior ones a necessary of life and the too responsible, 
 too active, too energetic life of the gently-nurtured 
 girl, whom adversity drives into the world to earn her 
 own living in any of those positions which cus'om has 
 made hard and false. The falseness or hardness of 
 these positions is quite of modern growth. Two or 
 there generations back, families of a certain standing 
 probably because they were much fewer in number 
 than they are at the present day had a kind of pride, 
 a sort of remnant of past chivalry, which precluded the 
 female members from undertaking any toil for which 
 a pecuniary return was to be expected. It was thought
 
 WORKING GENTLEWOMEN. 207 
 
 no obligation, no degradation, to receive eleemosy- 
 nary aid from a distant kinsman, rather than sub- 
 mit to labor which a false pride called ' shameful.' 
 Of course, to a certain extent, the same feeling pre- 
 vails in the upper ranks of the middle classes at the 
 present day ; but it is much more circumscribed in its 
 limits than it was formerly. People in excellent cir- 
 cumstances, moving in most intelligent and agreeable 
 circles, belonging to different grades of the legal and 
 medical professions, merchants, and many others, are 
 not, consequently, pretenders, even to high birth, or 
 endowed with these hereditary notions of family pride. 
 
 It is quite common to find the near female relatives 
 of such persons fighting the battle of life on their 
 own account, under disadvantages and discomforts that 
 are all the harder to endure, because but little appa- 
 rent to any, save the initiated. 
 
 Suppose a family of three; the brother enters 
 business early, and prospers to some degree in it ; and 
 the prettier of two sisters marries a year before her 
 father's death, just in time to be comfortably settled 
 before the crash comes which flings her sister penni- 
 less on the world. For the father lived up to his 
 income, and had neglected to insure his life. They 
 two, who 
 
 ' Slept together, 
 
 Rose at one instant, learned, play'd, eat together,' 
 
 through the years of childhood and youth, are now 
 parted in their destinies, like two plants, the one of 
 which is sheltered in a hot-house, and tended with 
 care, and the other left to trail on the bleak ground, 
 and seek 'sustenance as it can, exposed to every biting
 
 208 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 blast. If it weather the winter storms, it is true the 
 latter may bear richer fruit, though not such showy 
 blossoms as its favored fellow ; but that little word, 
 if! what hopes and expectations in life hang upon 
 it! 
 
 It would be unfair to blame the more fortunate sister, 
 or impute to her want of kindness and affection ; she 
 probably gives the other exactly the same sort of sym- 
 pathy which would have been bestowed on herself, had 
 their fortunes been reversed. Both brother and married 
 sister have new ties, stronger and dearer than the old 
 ones ; but they do what they can. There are bed and 
 board until the forlorn one procures remunerative occu- 
 pation, and whenever she may obtain a holiday, or be 
 out of a situation ; little presents sometimes, when other 
 claims have not squeezed the purse quite empty ; and 
 more real interest in her well-being is expressed and 
 shown, than, in a'l probability, she will find existing 
 in the heart of any other human being. They will be 
 lenient in their judgment of her faults, flattering in 
 their opinion of her abilities, and ready to take her part 
 when she is wrong ; everybody, be they just people, 
 will defend us when we are right. 
 
 Far be it however, from me, in the picture I am 
 attempting to sketch, to insinuate that there must, or 
 should be, hardship in a gentlewoman exerting herself, 
 by her mind or by her hands, as the means of an hon- 
 orable and independent existence. On the contrary, 
 there is a beautiful truth in the old Latin proverb that 
 * Labor is Worship ; ' and we may depend upon it, 
 that the struggling women of the nineteenth century 
 are, with the rarest possible exceptions, far nobler
 
 WORKING GENTLEWOMEN. 209 
 
 beings than were the damsels of the olden time, who 
 were themes for the troubadour's lays, and the victor's 
 prize at the tilt and tournament. They ought to have 
 the reward of this true nobility, in the world's honor 
 and respect for their vocations, and in individual com- 
 petence and happiness. 
 
 An error which often leads to much misery rests in 
 the apathy and improvidence of parents, who are con- 
 tent to enjoy their daughters' society ; to indulge their 
 own instinct not principle of benevolence, by be- 
 stowing on them many personal gratifications which 
 enervate and disincline them from those habits of in- 
 dustry and activity of mind which would preserve them 
 from ennui far more effectually than do evening par- 
 ties, morning visits, or their endless variety of trifling 
 employments; habits of occupation which would at 
 the same time brace and enlarge the mind, and fit it for 
 that encounter which is before them in the future. 
 
 The gentlewoman cast adrift on her own resources, 
 usually, and very naturally, seeks to render her accom- 
 plishments and acquirements available by imparting 
 them to others ; and according to their extent and 
 solidity is she of course likely to be successful. But if 
 she have not ' kept them up ' since her school-days 
 ceased, with more than ordinary diligence, she will 
 have a sad lesson to learn ; and ' keeping up ' really 
 means progressing ; for there is no disguising the fact 
 that systems of education are improving every day ; 
 and what would have been thought in advance of the 
 throng seven years ago, may be now decidedly in the 
 rear. She will find the mother, or ' musical friend,' 
 of the family she desires to instruct, a very different 
 14
 
 210 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 critic from her brother's friends, who hung over the 
 piano with gestures of delight, and vied with each other 
 for the honor of turning over the leaves of her music- 
 book ; her port-folio of drawings will be coldly and 
 curiously scanned, and will not elicit any of the 
 hyperbole compliments which similar productions had 
 won, when they appeared in the albums of her ac- 
 quaintances ; the accent of her French will be at best 
 a disputed point ; and questions in grammar and geog- 
 raphy will be asked her, which, under other circum- 
 stances, would be decidedly impertinent. 
 
 Perhaps what tends more than anything else to ren- 
 der the situation of a governess or teacher becom- 
 ing such under the circumstances I have indicated 
 peculiarly distressing, or at best unsatisfactory, is the 
 fact, that after all her exertions, and with all her 
 readiness to make necessary sacrifices, she is unable 
 to compete with the young woman who has been 
 educated for the express purpose of becoming an 
 instructress, and to whom the position is sometimes a 
 rise in life, looked forward to as a point of ambition. It 
 is one thing to possess the knowledge and accomplish- 
 ments which pass pleasantly current in society, and 
 quite another to have the deep and thorough under- 
 standing of them necessary to impart instruction, or to 
 have the habit and method of teaching. 
 
 When penury comes to a single woman in the 
 middle station of life, it is to teaching that she almost 
 invariably turns her attention ; and how fortunate does 
 it prove, if, instead of having frittered away her time in 
 senseless pleasures, she has strengthened her under- 
 standing and cultivated her mind in the ptist bright
 
 WORKING GENTLEWOMEN. 211 
 
 years of beautiful leisure. Better still if she has cher- 
 ished the kindly sympathies of her nature in the day 
 of her seeming prosperity, and won the hearts of warm 
 and loving friends to comfort her. 
 
 Many gentlewomen in London there are, who, with- 
 out attempting to instruct, eke out an existence by 
 various unsuspected means. Wood-engraving, we be- 
 lieve, is executed to some extent by ladies ; and many 
 of the best specimen patterns of fancy-work come from 
 their hands. It would be well if there were many 
 more legitimate occupations open for them. Mean- 
 while, there are myriads of persons who have it in 
 their power to ameliorate the condition of individuals 
 among the ' working gentlewomen,' yet neglect to do 
 so from sheer thoughtlessness. One of these, for 
 instance, is the mother of young daughters, who proves 
 inconsiderate and exacting towards their governess ; 
 who does not reflect how oppressive must be the mono- 
 tony of her life how depressing the perpetual com- 
 panionship of children, agreeable as a due proportion 
 of it is to most persons ; who forgets how lonely she 
 too often is in the bosom of a large family ; how the 
 word * home ' is to her a mockery, the nearest faint 
 resemblance to her of that reality being the midnight 
 solitude of her fireless attic. Of course, there are ex- 
 ceptions to this rule of suffering, but I much fear they 
 are too few. 
 
 If not tried too long if sorrow has not broken their 
 spirits and soured their tempers struggling women 
 ought to make the best wives in the world. A know- 
 ledge of life will be theirs no other teaching could have 
 bestowed"; a habit of forbearance, too, and gratitude
 
 212 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 for small kindnesses, which in the hour of proud pros- 
 perity would have been taken as a right. I sometimes 
 speculate on the inner life, the heart's history of such 
 women ; too often, for their own peace, are they 
 found clinging to a shadow, and losing the substance 
 worshipping a vision, and treating some genuine 
 love with scorn. The hour of suffering of penury, 
 is the one that tests the true lover ; and if it have not 
 the power to draw from him whom she wishes to be- 
 lieve so, the acknowledgment which should bind her to 
 him, the sooner she expels from its throne the creature 
 of her imagination the better for her own peace.
 
 MRS. SMITH AND MRS. BROWN. 
 
 A DOMESTIC DIALOUGE. 
 
 TIME Morning, July, 1851. 
 SCENE No. 7, Victoria Terrace, near London. 
 
 [Mrs. Smith having allowed her cook to go to the Exhibition, allows her house- 
 maid to be generally busy in departments not usually pertaining to the 
 1 neat-handed ' Sarah ; while Mrs. Smith herself, in morning dress, and 
 remarkably pretty cap, dusts china ornaments in her 'own sweet little draw- 
 ing-room,' pulls down Venetian blinds to spare her Axminster, and arranges 
 softly and lovingly a few books on an ornamental table : but she loiters in 
 a manner that a deputy-housemaid ought not to do, dipping into the lovely 
 illustrated 'Evangeline' for full five minutes, still standing, but resting first 
 on one side and then on the other, as little girls are always scolded for 
 doing, and dropping into a chair, when in the dusting she glances at a page 
 of the ' Casa Guidi Windows,' that had not struck her with its full force 
 before. A patter of little feet is heard ; the book is closed, and enter Susan 
 ( the nurse-maid, equipped for walking with Master Willy and Miss Katey, 
 aged respectively four and two years. Bright eyes, soft rosy cheeks, 
 silken, curly locks, streaming beneath large sun-shading Leghorn hats ; 
 short full skirts, and little Katey's coquettish cazaweck, and snowy-white 
 socks and coal-black polished leather shoes, must be shown to paint their 
 picture. Several demonstrative hugs between mother and children, some- 
 what to the detriment of Mrs. Smith's cap, are accompanied by crowing 
 laughter ' Dood-by, mamma ; dood-by ! Tusan take us to see the suuui ; 
 and such a nice walk ! Dood-by ! ' And the four impatient little feet scam- 
 per away; Mrs Smith, watching them out of the gate, as she peers between 
 the bars of the blind Then with a sudden thought she unrolls some new 
 music, opens the piano, and with the manner of a brilliant player when 
 trying a strange piece, repeats one or two ' queer ' passages three or four 
 times. A sharp double knock is heard, and the busy Sarah shows in Mrs. 
 Brown : civil neighborly greetings ensue.]
 
 214 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 Mrs. Brown. I heard the piano going, and so judged 
 you would see me, though it is hardly ten o'clock ; but 
 neighbors ought to be neighborly ; and as I said to Mr. 
 Brown, I was sure if you could help me you would. 
 
 Mrs. Smith. I am sure anything I can do 
 
 Mrs. B. Oh, what a difference. [Looking round 
 with envious admiration.] You can sit down in com- 
 fort to music the first thing in the morning. 
 
 Mrs. S. It is not my usual time for playing, but my 
 husband brought me home some new quadrilles and 
 a polka last night ; and as we are going to a little 
 carpet dance to-night, where I may be useful, I thought 
 I would try them over. But what is it that I can do for 
 you, Mrs. Brown? 
 
 Mrs. B. [Sighing.] My dear, you are a young 
 wife not married above five or six years and you 
 have had the luck to have treasures (trebly italicised) ; 
 but as for me, servants are my torments. I sent off 
 the whole pack last night, and have only a horrid char- 
 woman in the house. Does your cook know of any 
 friend she can recommend ? That is what I wanted to 
 ask you. 
 
 Mrs. S. I hardly think it likely, but I will ask Sarah 
 if she knows any one. Cook is not at home ; she is 
 gone to the Exhibition. 
 
 Mrs. B. What, again ! Then it was she that I saw 
 so smart getting into the omnibus. Well, I must say 
 you spoil them. 
 
 Mrs. S. [Smiling.] And yet I get on remarkably 
 well. It is Cook's third visit. I actually sent her to- 
 day because she had neglected to go over the Model 
 Lodging Houses, and I wished her so much to see 
 them.
 
 MRS. SMITH AND MRS. BROWN. 215 
 
 Mrs. B. My dear Mrs. Smith, what could it signify ? 
 
 Mrs. S. A good deal, I think. However, I do not 
 wonder at the omission, as I believe on the first occa- 
 sion she had no eyes for anything except the kitchen- 
 ranges ; her account of which interested me particu- 
 larly. I know, with all my Friday and Saturday visits, 
 /have not found them out yet. 
 
 Mrs. B. Is it possible you talk to your servants in 
 this way ? 
 
 Mrs. S. Why not ? I assure you we always consider 
 our servants as humble friends, and interest ourselves 
 in all that concerns them. 
 
 Mrs. B. But you wouldn't if you had such wretches 
 as I have to deal with. Why, in eight months I have 
 had five cooks, three house-maids, and four little imps 
 in buttons : they have nearly broken my heart, and 
 quite made differences between Mr. Brown and me ; 
 and it has been so all my life. Oh, Mrs. Smith, how 
 do you manage ; and where did you get your servants 
 from ? 
 
 Mrs. S. I hardly remember how I procured them ; 
 through some ordinary channel of recommendation, I 
 believe ; and I know I received excellent characters, 
 which experience has convinced me they deserved. 
 In fact, I would not engage a servant unless her ap- 
 pearance, acquirements, and general recommendation 
 were an earnest that she would suit. Then, when one 
 has a good servant, kindness and consideration, with 
 fair wages, will always keep her. In fact, I believe 
 kindness is thought more of than wages by many ; 
 though we are of opinion that servants ought to receive 
 good wages enough to lay by for their old age.
 
 216 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 Mrs. B. But they never do. It all goes in finery, 
 and that is what I will not allow ; it was a quarrel 
 about a bonnet ribbon that made me part with Mary at 
 last. I put up with her impudence for four months, but 
 couldn't endure it any longer. 
 
 Mrs. S. Certain limits are no doubt desirable ; but 
 a thoroughly good and happy servant usually saves 
 from her wages, and generally has sense enough not 
 to dress absurdly. I do not care how good my ser- 
 vants' clothes are, both for the sake of their appearance 
 and for economy, knowing well that cheap things are 
 always the dearest in the end. 
 
 Mrs. B. [Shaking her head with the wisdom of 
 forty-Jive addressing the inexperience of twenty-eight.] 
 I see we shall never agree. I don't know what the 
 world is coming to. Now there's the postman, I should 
 not wonder if there are letters for the kitchen as well 
 as for you. 
 
 Mrs. S. Very likely, for the servants have all rela- 
 tions in the country. 
 
 Enter SARAH, with a letter for Mrs. SMITH, and 
 another in her hand.' 
 
 Mrs. B. [To Mrs. Smith.] May I ask her? 
 
 Mrs. S. I was just going to do so. [ To the house- 
 maid.] Sarah, Mrs. Brown wants a cook, do you know 
 of one ? 
 
 Sarah. I think I do. [Hesitates and stammers.] That 
 is, no, I am afraid the young person I was thinking of, 
 would not suit you, ma'am. 
 
 Mrs. B. Not suit me, Sarah ? What do you mean ? 
 Is she honest, clean, sober ? A good cook ?
 
 MRS. SMITH AND MRS. BROWN. 217 
 
 Sarah. [Indignant for her friend.] Oh, yes, ma'am, 
 bit but perhaps she would not do. 
 
 Mrs. B. Why not ? 
 
 Strah. You see, ma'am, it would be such a dreadful 
 thing 'f she didn't suit, to lose a five years' character, 
 and ony leaving because her master has lost money, 
 and is reducing his establishment ; and she wants to 
 stay with \alf wages, only he won't let her, and so she 
 is teaching 'he eldest daughter to know about cooking ; 
 and so, rna'an, she couldn't leave yet, and of course 
 you couldn't \Viit. No, I don't know any servant I am 
 sure that I shou*] like to recommend. 
 
 Mrs. B. [Wih a half glimmer that Sarah does 
 know of a 'treasure 1 * but won't consign her to No. 5.] 
 Oh, very well, I dorit wish it to be considered a favor. 
 
 Sarah, Of course rot, ma'am. 
 
 [Sarah \ourtesys, and leaves the room. 
 
 Mrs. S. [Almost timicfy.] If it would not be con- 
 sidered presumptuous in rne, so much younger a 
 housekeeper, to give advice, \ would say to you, when 
 you can succeed in procuring good servants, to try 
 the plan of treating them indu^ently. They are our 
 fellow-creatures with the sam6 hope's and desires, 
 failings and weaknesses, and infinities of temper 
 we must not expect perfection and\f we show them 
 sympathy, it is astonishing the influence 
 
 Mrs. B [Decidedly tartly.] Now I kt*>w what you 
 are going to say ; but I never will give in to, those new- 
 fangled notions. I won't allow followers, ad I won't 
 allow letter scribbling ; and what I say in vny O wn 
 house shall be done, and I won't be answered by arnjnx; 
 and if I choose a thing to be done one way one -jay,
 
 218 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 and another way another, what's that to them ? Whrt 
 business have they to say that I don't know my ovn 
 mind, and begin to cry, and to talk about their oiar- 
 acters ? 
 
 Mrs. S. [A little warmly.] Oh, Mrs. Brown, anger 
 often terrifies a timid girl, not naturally dull,ino seem- 
 ing stupidity and obstinacy. I pity them from my 
 heart ; and I deeply feel a mistress has gra'e responsi- 
 bilities towards her female servants. Ser'itude at best 
 is an abandonment of liberty, and muft bring many 
 trials ; how cruel of us to make it needlessly bitter by 
 our caprices and exactions. And or the other hand, 
 what a happiness it is to feel or^self served from 
 affection as well as duty. I speai from experience : 
 our household is a household of I've ; these walls have 
 never echoed to an angry reproof there is no fear, 
 there is no deception in the louse ; and I believe our 
 servants feel it to be their /tome ; it always gladdens 
 me when I hear them call it so. 
 
 Mrs. B. It is all ver/ fine, but how do you know 
 that you are not cheated ? 
 
 Mrs. S. From miny circumstances, besides my 
 own faith in those about me. I give you one for ex- 
 ample : I know rtat our expenses are nearly a hun- 
 dred a year IP>S than those of many friends who 
 appear to livc-nore plainly. But all in the house draw 
 together to *void waste, and all act without separate 
 interests. The servants themselves are like sisters, and 
 help onf another as is the case to-day in affec- 
 tionate fellowship. If I give one of them a holiday, I 
 scarcely know the difference in the house. I know 
 peq>le say I have been particularly ' fortunate ; ' but
 
 MRS. SMITH MRS. BROWN. 219 
 
 is it not strange, dear Mrs. Brown, that one person 
 should have all the bad servants, and another all the 
 good ? 
 
 Mrs. B, Not at all, if you give them high wages, 
 and let them have their own way. 
 
 Mrs, S. Not their own way unless it is my way 
 also. I assure you I am extremely particular, but then 
 we are also very regular in our habits; and knowing 
 myself that I dearly like to be praised when I do 
 well, why I give praise to those about me when they 
 deserve it. 
 
 Mrs. B. [ Rising and with a Burleigh shake of the 
 head.] They won't bear it. 
 
 Mrs. & Oh, yes, they will do try just for three 
 months, with your next set of servants. But don't go 
 yet ; here come the ' trots ' from their walk you 
 must see them. 
 
 [Enter Susan and the children ; the latter laden with hedge-flowers. Mrs. 
 Brown admires and caresses the children, whom Susan, at her mistress's 
 bidding, has left in the drawing-room. Mrs. Brown says something about 
 ' spoiling,' which Katey does not understand, though she opens her large 
 eyes still wider, as if in the effort to comprehend. Kitchens in Victoria- 
 terraces not being very remote from drawing-rooms, a sound of bitter vio- 
 lent weeping is heard proceeding from the lower regions. Mrs. Smith rushes 
 to the stairs to ask what is the matter ; Mrs. Brown following in charge of 
 the children.] 
 
 Sarah. [Sympathetic, with her apron corner to her 
 eye.] Oh, Ma'am, poor Susan has got a letter from 
 home, and her sister that's been ill so long that was 
 in the hospital for months is dying ; the doctors say 
 she can't live three days. 
 
 Mrs. S. [Going into the kitchen.] Oh, I am so 
 sorry. Is it the poor girl that had the ' housemaid's 
 knee ' from that hard place ?
 
 220 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 Sarah. Yes, Ma'am ; the brutes that kept her 
 scrubbing from morning till night ; I wonder they can't 
 be hung for murder. 
 
 Mrs. S. Hush, Sarah ; it will do no good to re- 
 proach them more. No doubt they have learned a 
 lesson from their severity, and will regret it as long as 
 they live. [ To Susan : putting her hand kindly on her 
 shoulder.] My poor girl, what can I do to comfort 
 you ? 
 
 Susan. [Sobbing violently.] Oh, Ma'am, she do so 
 fret to see me once more ! There's only a 
 a year between us; and we came up to London 
 together. 
 
 Mrs. Smith. Then go to her, of course, by all 
 means. 
 
 Susan. [Sobbing still, and kissing one of Mrs. 
 Smith's hands.] Oh, Ma'am, I was afraid Cook 
 being out you couldn't let me ; and if I don't go 
 to-day I may never see her again Oh, Ma'am 
 bless you ! bless you ! Ma'am. No one ever had 
 such a mistress. 
 
 Mrs. S. Hush, my poor girl ; try to be calm 
 she may recover still doctors often make mistakes 
 
 and if not, remember it is the will of God and 
 think how much your poor sister suffered. Sarah, 
 fetch her a- glass of wine, and then look for Bradshaw 
 
 it is in the breakfast room that we may see when 
 the next train to Reading goes. That is the one she 
 wants, is it not ? 
 
 [Exit Sarah, who returns with Bradshaw and a glass of wine. Susan revives 
 a little Bradsbaw declares there is a mixed train 1 h 55 m ; Mrs Smith 
 observes there is only just time to arrange, as there is a long omnibus ride to 
 the station. Susan shakes her head at the mention of dinner, and Mrs. Smith
 
 MRS. SMITH AND MRS. BROWN. 221 
 
 suggests to Sarah a packet of sandwiches to put into the traveller's bag. 
 Willy and Katey promise to be very good with dear mamma, and kiss 
 4 poor ' Susan little lips trembling with the ready tears.] 
 
 SUPPLEMENTARY SCENE No. 5, Mr. and Mrs. Brown, 
 anathematizing mutton-chops cocked (?) by charwoman. 
 
 Mr. Brown. [Crossly.] Mrs. B., as my mother, who 
 was a Norfolk woman, used to say, ' The proof of the 
 pudding is in the eating ; ' and I do maintain Smith's 
 is the pleasantest house I know to go to ; he never sit 
 down to a dinner of fat and cinders I know and 
 what does it signify if she spoils the servants, and if 
 she gets the best sort of work out of them neverthe- 
 less. I never saw plate so polished and they've no 
 man. As for the spring-soup, the other day, it was fit 
 for an alderman ; and in the winter, that venison I 
 shall never forget why can't we have hot-water 
 plates I should like to know ? 
 
 Mrs. B. Brown, you are quite a brute to talk of 
 such things at such a time when you know I am 
 almost frantic. 
 
 Mr. B. I am not a brute ; but this I do say, that 
 the young wives seem to me in the main the best 
 managers. 
 
 Mrs. B. You had better bury me I shall soon be 
 worried into my grave and then you -can have a 
 young wife. 
 
 Mr. B. Don't talk like an old fool. Hang it it is 
 enough to make a man savage scold, scold, scold 
 change, change, change. 
 
 Mrs. B. [Weeping.] Because I get hold of a parcel 
 of wretches, and Mrs. Smith has treasures. 
 
 Mr. B. I fancy she helps to make them treasures
 
 222 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 and it isn't as if she could be very active in the house 
 herself I am sure she isn't ; such a charming accom- 
 plished woman the life and ornament of society and 
 as pretty 
 
 [Mrs. Brown bursts into a fit of hysterics. Mr. Brown acknowledges he is a 
 brute, calls her ' darling,' and ' dear Nancy,' and the scene closes on mutual 
 flatteries and condolence, Mr. B. promising never to set up Mrs. Smith as a 
 pattern again.]
 
 THE MERCHANT'S CLERK. 
 
 1 One touch of Nature makes the whole world kin.' 
 
 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THERE was nothing in the appearance of Godfrey 
 Grey that at the first glance distinguished him from 
 the thousands of men who are to be met _ every morn- 
 ing in the great thoroughfares of London, wending 
 their way city-wards to commence their daily duties 
 merchants' and bankers' clerks ; earners of small sala- 
 ries in government offices ; or the infinite variety of 
 busy individuals who compose an important stratum in 
 social life. Neither tall nor short, neither handsome 
 nor ugly, neither well dressed nor exactly shabby, and 
 neither talkative nor morosely silent, Godfrey Grey 
 was seldom noticed by strangers, and not much re- 
 garded by mere acquaintances. The latter considered 
 him an ordinary specimen of humanity, and perhaps 
 one of the last in the world to whom they would have 
 attached heroism of character or romantic interest. 
 
 Those who knew him a little better some of his 
 fellow clerks for instance called him a ' good soul ' 
 and 'an excellent fellow,' though occasionally this
 
 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 commendation was accompanied by the expletive 
 'poor' applied to his name. Yet, if as applied to 
 worldly means, they only are rich who live within 
 their incomes, ' poor Godfrey,' or ' poor Grey,' was a 
 sad misnomer. At fifty-five years of age, after forty 
 years of toil, Godfrey had some fifty pounds in one of 
 the suburban savings' banks he had never owed any 
 man a penny he could not pay, and had never incurred 
 a pecuniary obligation, save once, and that was in a 
 season of sickness, and sorrow, and death, when his 
 household gods lay shivered at his feet. For the Lares 
 and Penates hover, invisible spirits, about a poor man's 
 hearth as well as near a rich one's ; nay, they some- 
 times cling there with a yet firmer hold. For all this, 
 Godfrey Grey was a bachelor. 
 
 Young men of spirit who * dare do all that may be- 
 come a man,' and a little more, are very apt to say 
 ' poor fellow ' of an elder who evidently has not pushed 
 his fortune in the world as they confidently intend to 
 do, and who yet maintains cheerfulness and serenity 
 in a condition of life under which they tell you they 
 would certainly ' hang themselves ; ' this being an 
 allegorical figure of speech not necessarily alarming. 
 Consequently, some of the juniors in the counting- 
 house of Messrs. Stavers and Co. often said ' poor 
 Grey!' youths who were not born when Godfrey 
 first took his seat on a high stool there ; young men 
 of good connections, who undertook light work for no 
 salary, just to see the routine of business among 
 merchant princes. 
 
 Some points in the character of Mr. Stavers, the 
 managing partner, will be developed by this little his-
 
 THE MERCHANT'S CLERK. 225 
 
 tory. He was a tall, portly person, of few words and 
 reserved manners ; his clear iron-grey eyes were as 
 cold in their expression as polished steel ; and he never 
 shook hands, he only placed his hand for a second in 
 the extended palm of an intimate, and then as if the 
 action were something necessary but disagreeable, 
 which must be got over. Nobody ever mentioned 
 'Dombey' in his presence ; by mutual, though unex- 
 pressed consent, the whole world of his acquaintances 
 avoided the topic even while the work was in course 
 of publication, and the timid among them, whom the 
 great man completely overawed, would have thought 
 an allusion to bad watches or an Egyptian queen 
 verging on the personal. 
 
 And yet there were some essentials in which Mr. 
 Stavers was far from being a Dombey. He had loved 
 the wife of his youth with generous and entire devo- 
 tion ; he had lost her after a happy union of a very 
 few years, and then his whole affections had centred 
 in the only daughter the sole child that she had left 
 him. Who would have thought for few were they 
 who knew that the proud merchant, so erect of 
 figure and cold of speech, had watched for many a 
 weary night by infancy's sick bed, and been to his 
 little Mary a soft and gentle nurse ? Who would have 
 thought and none there were who knew that this 
 stately man had made himself the playmate of his 
 little daughter in the early days of her childhood, had 
 tossed her ball, and dressed her doll ? Who could have 
 thought all this ? For of latter years the habit of his 
 reserve all habits strengthen by indulgence had 
 grown so strong, that it was less and less abandoned in 
 15
 
 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 his home. Mary Stavers loved her father, but she also 
 stood in awe of him ; and in the years of her opening 
 womanhood made no just measurement of his parental 
 affection. 
 
 But though Godfrey Grey was a bachelor, there was 
 a Past belonging to his life that still, by the silver links 
 of affection, had a hold on the Present, and swayed his 
 actions, and directed his hopes not less absolutely than 
 the rich merchant was influenced by care and thoughf 
 for his daughter. Yet to understand all this, the reader 
 must dream a waking dream, and must look on the 
 pictures I will strive to rapidly sketch, as if they were 
 phantoms floating across the surface of one of those 
 fabled mirrors that reflected the forms of the dead and 
 absent, and the scenes of long long ago. 
 
 Look ! there is a slight mist, but it will clear away 
 soon. We cannot on the instant shut out the present, 
 and bring to the mind's eye these pictures of the past. 
 Yes, that young man is Godfrey Grey what a differ- 
 ence ! True, the difference made by thirty years of 
 chequered life ! But at five-and-twenty he journeyed 
 to and from the counting-house just as he does at 
 present, only the way was different. Then he threaded 
 narrow streets that have long since made way for broad 
 thoroughfares ; and in the home of his youth, number 
 something in a suburban terrace, a narrow red-brick 
 house, with green outside window-shutters, has been 
 pulled down, and the site occupied by a railway ter- 
 minus. London streets were not so crowded as now 
 we find them ; shops were less showy, and dress less 
 becoming than at present ; the rapid, rattling omnibus 
 was not created, and lumbering hackney-coaches, with
 
 THE MERCHANT'S CLERK. 227 
 
 drowsy drivers and worn-out horses, dragged along the 
 highways. 
 
 Let us enter the red-brick house, with the outside 
 shutters blistered by the summer sun, and battered by 
 the winter rain. It has what we of another generation 
 call an old-fashioned look, and we don't associate it 
 with young people. And yet young people did dwell' 
 in those old-fashioned houses ! There is a Pembroke 
 table in the middle of the room covered with a yel- 
 lowish-green baize ; the remnant of a Turkey carpet, 
 made for a much larger room, partially covers the 
 floor ; heavy moreen curtains shade the windows ; a 
 portrait of Godfrey's father, set in a black frame, hangs 
 over the tall chimney-piece ; beneath which, bright 
 bars and a polished stove look coldly suggestive of 
 terrible task-work to the maid-of-all-work ; a hard 
 horse-hair sofa occupies one side of the room, and its 
 smoothness remains undisturbed ; for Godfrey's mother 
 belongs to the ' old school,' scorns easy chairs herself, 
 sits erect as a ramrod, and thinks it dreadful for young 
 people to ' loll.' No wonder ! in those days only the 
 strong lived. 
 
 Godfrey had a sister, his junior by a year or two. 
 And Godfrey's sister had a friend. And so it came to 
 pass that often and often two blooming girls sat and 
 worked, and laughed and talked, and sang snatches of 
 old ballads, in that dim cheerless room. Perhaps, too r 
 their youth and gaiety shed a pleasantness about the 
 scene not easy to realize now. Their bird-like snatches 
 of song were without instrumental accompaniment, for 
 in those days girls in their station of life were not 
 taught music.
 
 228 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 Godfrey's father had held an unimportant situation in 
 a Government office. The patron to whom he owed it 
 died soon after the appointment, and henceforth, being 
 without influence, his onward steps were few and far 
 between. But he lived economically, brought up his 
 two children with credit, and left a few hundreds be- 
 hind him, the greater part of which was sunk, at the 
 imperative desire of Godfrey and Esther, in a life 
 annuity for the widow. Godfrey, as we know, was a 
 merchant's clerk ; and his sister earned pocket-money 
 by her needle. In those days there were many handi- 
 crafts in vogue which are now little pursued. Lace 
 mending and darning of various rich fabrics were 
 among them ; for machinery had not then disseminated 
 good taste ; and the beautiful in dress was so costly, 
 that even the very wealthy were glad to find keen eyes 
 and skilful fingers ready to repair accidental injuries. 
 It was very trying to the eyesight, this darning of fine 
 cashmere and curious restoration of damaged lace ; 
 and before she was five-and-twenty, Esther Grey used 
 spectacles of high magnifying power. But many things 
 happened before that time, which probably seemed of 
 more importance than the dimness of sight of which she 
 complained. 
 
 The name of her friend was Mary Douglas ; a pretty, 
 light-hearted, fairy creature, that even when out of her 
 teens seemed more of a child than a woman. Like 
 Esther, she was an only daughter, and the bond of 
 affectionate sympathy between them was almost sis- 
 terly. They were not alike, yet the different points of 
 their character resembled those discords in music which 
 are resolved into harmony. Esther was sedate, and
 
 THE MERCHANT'S CLERK. 229 
 
 Mary almost giddy ; Esther was industrious, and Mary 
 very nearly idle ; and yet her idleness did not seem 
 what it was somehow or other it seemed natural for 
 her to be quite unemployed, or at most to be winding 
 silk and thread for Esther's use. Even this she did ill, 
 being too impatient to disentangle knots, or overcome 
 a difficulty. But perhaps she was singing like a thrush 
 all the time, or telling some merry story, laughing, or 
 it might be crying if something pitiful had happened 
 and no one ever had the heart to rebuke her. 
 
 Godfrey Grey loved Mary Douglas ! A whole history 
 is told in that brief sentence ; and all that followed was 
 but natural to his character. He loved her intensely ; 
 worshipped her as man does not often do unselfishly ; 
 but though he watched every look, every word, every 
 gesture, he had not the vanity to construe the familiar 
 friendship she evinced for 'Esther's brother' into a 
 warmer sentiment. He was quite right, and she did 
 not even suspect the life-long affection she had kindled. 
 He was shy, reserved, believing her to be like a queen 
 above him, happy only to bask in her presence some- 
 times, and fearful too bold a word would frighten her 
 from the house. 
 
 One autumn evening Godfrey returned home as 
 usual. The mother sat knitting mid-way between the 
 window and the cold bright grate. It was a chilly 
 night, but Mrs. Grey, belonging to the old school, never 
 had fires till some particular day, which had not arrived 
 yet. Esther was wrapped in a shawl, plying her 
 needle diligently. The wind sighed and surged through 
 the neighboring trees, and rattled their dead leaves on 
 the ground ; everything had a gloomy aspect, and
 
 230 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 Godfrey felt a presentiment of evil. Esther was more 
 silent than usual, but a smile seemed struggling to 
 break from her pursed-up lips ; she had a secret, and 
 while she hugged it, longed to tell it. 
 
 Godfrey was set to guess the riddle, with the ' What 
 do you think ? ' and * Who do you think ? ' which are 
 so tiresome and tantalizing. He could not guess, but 
 Esther exclaimed at last, * Well, then, Mary is going 
 to be married ! Are you not surprised ?' 
 
 ' Yes oh, no why surprised ? ' said Godfrey, very 
 calmly, and sipping his tea as he spoke. It was quite 
 twilight, almost the dusk of a cloudy evening. Pres- 
 ently he left the room, and not returning for an hour, 
 Esther sought her brother ; she found him on his bed ; 
 he said his head ached dreadfully, but her sisterly ten- 
 derness brought lerrge tears to his eyes, and her womanly 
 instinct leaped at something near the truth. 
 
 ' Mary ! my poor brother ! ' This was nearly all 
 she said ; but Godfrey knew that her heart bled for 
 him. 
 
 It was a long interview, and Godfrey's last words as 
 she left him, were ' Esther, through life, not a word of 
 this to her, to any one.' 
 
 And so Mary Douglas married her handsome, high- 
 spirited lover ; and her father it was a year before his 
 death gave her away ; and everybody thought she 
 had made a ' great match.' They lived in a dashing 
 style ; yet one day her husband died, leaving Mary a 
 pennyless widow with a little orphan girl. 
 
 What changes ten years make in the small world of 
 a social circle ! Old Mrs. Grey was dead, and her 
 little income lost ; Godfrey was beginning to look a
 
 THE MERCHANT'S CLERK. 231 
 
 middle-aged man white hairs were thickly strewn 
 among his brown locks, and he stooped perceptibly ; 
 and Esther poor Esther ! was almost blind. She 
 could not work, she could not read, and she never 
 sang now. The merry heart of careless youth was 
 gone for ever ; and if she were a little fractious now 
 and then, Godfrey remembered her affliction, and bore 
 with her. 
 
 Mary, the idolized Mary, was penniless ; there was 
 but one thing to be done, and Godfrey's little hoard 
 was placed at her disposal. Mary had all her life been 
 cared for by others, and it did not seem strange for her 
 friends to help her now. And yet the canker was 
 eating into her very life ; she had loved her husband 
 dearly, and mourned him in anguish of spirit ; and the 
 fall from seeming affluence to poverty shook her mind, 
 and shattered her mortal frame. She only lived a year, 
 and it was the most natural thing in the world for the 
 child a little Mary, too to be adopted by the old 
 maid and the old bachelor. 
 
 They reared her lovingly ; debarred themselves of 
 all luxuries and many comforts, that she might be ten- 
 derly nurtured ; made her the pivot of their affections, 
 and the load-star of their hopes. At eighteen, she 
 eloped from their roof to wed almost a stranger, a boy 
 scarcely older than herself, and to encounter, as they 
 soon discovered, the struggles and perils of poverty. 
 The blow broke Esther's heart, though she lingered 
 for months on a sick bed before death released her 
 from a world that now seemed doubly dark to the blind 
 woman. She lived to know that the ' child ' was 
 already pinched by penury, was already accepting
 
 232 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 alms like a beggar from the poor bereaved Godfrey. 
 It was now indeed that his household gods lay shivered, 
 and that the depth of woe was known. 
 
 These are the scenes that float, disturbed and indis- 
 tinctly, athwart the magic mirror of the past. A breath 
 a will and the daylight of present reality shines 
 in and we have Godfrey Grey, the elderly clerk, the 
 ' good soul ' of his acquaintances, trudging to and fro 
 from his desolate two rooms to the counting-house, ful- 
 filling his duties with clock-like regularity, though with 
 something more than automaton skill. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 GODFREY sat on his high stool as usual ; he was busy 
 adding up, and subtracting from, and poring over, 
 long rows of figures ; nevertheless he had looked up 
 three times at the clock over the chimney-piece, and 
 compared its face once with that of his own antique 
 silver watch. The hands only varied half a minute ; 
 it was nearly noon, and Mr. Stavers had not made his 
 appearance, or sent to account for his absence. The 
 case was unprecedented ; a heap of unopened letters 
 remained on the table in Mr. Slavers' private room, 
 and, from the post-marks of two or three, the chief 
 clerks knew they required prompt attention. Besides, 
 several matters were at a stand-still, for Mr. Stavers 
 was an indefatigable man of business, and on the rare 
 occasions of his absence always made methodical 
 arrangements, deputing some little authority to one
 
 THE MERCHANT'S CLERK. 233 
 
 or more of the clerks, who, however, never dreamed 
 of exercising it without a formal bestowal of this occa- 
 sional regency, not even on an emergency like the 
 present. 
 
 A council was held, at which it was decided that if 
 Mr. Stavers did not appear by one o'clock, Grey should 
 take a cab and drive as fast as possible, with the letters, 
 to the great man's residence in Portman Square ex- 
 treme expedition being- desirable, lest Mr. Stavers and 
 his clerk should cross on the road. Godfrey knew the 
 house well, for on more than one occasion of illness 
 he had been the bearer of dispatches. Arrived there 
 he discharged the cab, and with his own hand gave a 
 modest knock at the door. 
 
 The street-door of a large house seldom opens quite 
 so fast to a modest knock as to the crescendo rat-a-tat- 
 tat-tat of a practised footman ; but on that morning 
 Godfrey Grey had to repeat his knock, and was on the 
 point of lifting his hand a third time, when at last the 
 lock gave way. It was a maid-servant who opened the 
 door an unusual circumstance ; and at a glance the 
 visitor perceived that something out of the customary 
 routine must have happened. There was an appear- 
 ance of disarray even about the entrance-hall, the 
 oaken chairs of which, instead of being primly ar- 
 ranged, were drawn edgeways out of their places, as 
 if hustled about by hurried passing to and fro. It was 
 not even a housemaid, but that servants' drudge, the 
 kitchen-maid, who opened the door, a country girl with 
 a strong provincial accent, and who could or would 
 only say ' No, he aint,' to the inquiry if Mr. Stavers 
 were at home, and ' I doan't know ' to the question if
 
 234 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 he were well. Presently, however, Godfrey bethought 
 himself to ask for the housekeeper, it being evident 
 that no men-servants were about the premises, and in 
 a few minutes an old servant of the family made her 
 appearance dressed in the orthodox black silk of a 
 ' housekeeper,' carrying her spectacles in one hand 
 and a pocket handkerchief in the other ; but it was the 
 latter that she raised to her eyes, as she motioned 
 Godfrey Grey into the breakfast parlor, where the 
 remains of the morning meal were still on the table. 
 
 Yes, there was the urn that hissed no longer ; the 
 cup of coffee only half empty ; a knife upon the floor; 
 a fork plunged in the untasted perigord pie upon his 
 plate ; the arm-chair pushed back ; all showing at a 
 glance that Mr. Stavers had left his just-tasted break- 
 fast hastily. But there was one cup unused, one napkin 
 unfolded, one plate unsoiled ; and these proclaimed that 
 the daughter had not joined her father at the unfinished 
 meal. 
 
 ' Oh, Sir! oh, Mr. Grey!' exclaimed the weeping 
 matron, ' I don't wonder at your coming ; and I don't 
 wonder at my poor master never once thinking of 
 business. Bless you ! he's half way to Scotland by this 
 time, almost; he took an express ' but here tears 
 prevented the good woman from proceeding. 
 
 ' Express ! Scotland ! ' ejaculated the astonished 
 clerk. 
 
 * Yes,' sobbed the housekeeper, * Gretna Green, 
 Miss Mary has eloped ! ' 
 
 Godfrey sank into a chair, for he could no longer 
 stand. The green wound of his own sorrow, the keen 
 memory of all he had felt when his Mary the very
 
 THE MERCHANT'S CLERK. 235 
 
 name even affected him had left her humble home 
 at the stranger's bidding, flashed through his soul, and 
 showed him the life-drama just as it had been acted. 
 And something more ; for he not only recognised the 
 outward action, how the father, not seeing his child 
 at breakfast, had summoned her and found her fled, 
 but Godfrey Grey could understand, throb for throb, all 
 the anguish of that father's heart. 
 
 The housekeeper, worthy soul ! who had nursed 
 Mary Stavers on her knee, and loved her as old ser- 
 vants almost always love the children they have seen 
 grow up, gave the outlines of the dark tale very briefly. 
 By the aid of her French maid, who was also missing, 
 the young lady must have left her father's house either 
 late the preceding night or early that morning. Mis- 
 tress and maid had both apparently retired for the night, 
 but neither of their beds had been slept in. As the 
 worthless Annette's only duty was to attend on her 
 young mistress, her not being about the house early in 
 the morning had not attracted the smallest attention. 
 The probability was they had quitted London some 
 hours before their flight was discovered ; and from a 
 letter left on the toilet-table, it was acknowledged for 
 what purpose, and with whom to wed a dashing 
 young officer, whose sole means consisted of a lieu- 
 tenant's pay ! 
 
 ' If you had but seen my poor master ! ' repeated 
 the housekeeper. ' Oh, it almost broke my heart to see 
 the large tears rolling down his poor face, which was 
 as white as that table-cloth. To think of Mr. Stavers 
 weeping ! But nobody can tell how much he felt.'
 
 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 ' I can,' said Godfrey, in a low sad tone. ' I can, 
 from my heart.' 
 
 ' And there is something,' continued the worthy 
 woman, ' that is distressing me very much indeed. 
 Master has taken his old servant Smith with him, but 
 there's a jackanapes of a young footman, who is to 
 leave next week, and out of a spite I am almost sure 
 he is going to send an account of the elopement to the 
 newspapers, if he has not done so already, for he was 
 writing for the best part of an hour, and then went out, 
 as full of importance as he was the day he put on his 
 new livery.' 
 
 ' This must be stopped !' exclaimed Godfrey, with 
 decision. 
 
 ' Ah, but how ? ' 
 
 'By terrifying him by bribing him by knocking 
 his brains out,' returned Godfrey, in a passion of 
 wrath ; ' the villain ! ' 
 
 ' Well, Mr. Grey, I only hope you will be able to 
 persuade him. I have almost been down upon my 
 knees to him, but he only laughs. Mind you, he don't 
 own what he has been doing ; but I know. And he 
 don't care for his character, as he is going to turn play- 
 actor.' 
 
 ' Where can I find him when will he be in ? ' 
 asked Godfrey, impatiently. 
 
 'To dinner leave him alone for that; lam sure 
 he will be home in another quarter of an hour. In- 
 deed he may be in already. I'll go and see.' 
 
 While she was absent, Godfrey Grey walked into 
 the hall, and after deliberately examining some sticks 
 which leaned together in a stand, selected one, switch-
 
 THE MERCHANT'S CLERK. 237 
 
 ing it, as he returned to the breakfast-room, with as 
 much freedom as if it had been his own. 
 
 The young knave had returned, and, quite uncon- 
 scious of the purpose for which he was summoned up 
 stairs, he made his appearance before Godfrey Grey, 
 who taxed him with his offence in a tone of voice and 
 in a manner that showed this was not a time for trifling. 
 Meanwhile, the housekeeper saw the stick, and saw 
 that Godfrey's pale face was set to a purpose of deter- 
 mination, and not liking to be the witness of a scene, 
 she withdrew ; first, however, taking up the knives and 
 forks from the breakfast-table, in the most quiet and 
 natural manner in the world, as if she were innocent 
 of a thought beyond their purification. In about five 
 minutes a noisy scuffle was heard, which surprised her 
 less than it did the other women servants, accompanied 
 by cries of ' Help ! help ! murder ! ' 
 
 The women, in a party of three strong, entered the 
 breakfast-room, where they found the young would-be 
 Roscius in the grasp of Godfrey Grey, whose knuckles, 
 pressed upon his throat, half-stifled his cries, which 
 now were changed to ' I will I will let go ! ' 
 
 'I will, 1 he repeated, when lightly held at arm's 
 length by Grey, whose excitement seemed to have lent 
 him additional strength, ' I will ; ' but the now craven 
 youth added, ' you must give me the two sovereigns 
 you promised just now.' 
 
 ' Very well,' said Godfrey, ' and perhaps this good 
 lady will take charge of them until we know it is not 
 too late for you to undo the mischief.' 
 
 As he spoke, he put the money into the house- 
 keeper's hand, adding, ' Will you be so good as to
 
 238 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 send for a cab, that I may take this rascal with me to 
 the newspaper offices, and get back the precious para- 
 graphs he has left there.' 
 
 And this was done, partly by Godfrey's simple state- 
 ment, partly by the culprit's forced confession that only 
 a tithe he had written was true. His guilty conscience 
 and imaginative temperament had pictured Godfrey 
 Grey as a police officer in plain clothes, a mistake 
 which neither he nor the worthy housekeeper took the 
 trouble of correcting. He came back for the promised 
 bribe, which was honorably bestowed ; the housekeeper 
 paid his arrears of wages ; and then he slunk out of 
 the house, bag and baggage, with yet a theatrical air 
 that showed him to be not altogether unfit for the low 
 villains of melo-dramatic performances. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 A WEEK had passed, and Mr. Stavers was again to 
 be found in the quiet back room of his counting-house. 
 The morning following the day of his unexpected ab- 
 sence, the clerks had received a letter from him, bearing 
 the post-mark of a town in the north of England giving 
 ample instructions for the conduct of the business ; and 
 when he returned, he made only the slightest possible 
 allusion to his having left town. He had bowed coldly 
 as he passed through the outer offices, and every one 
 had observed the ravages one little week had made. 
 He looked as if he had not slept all the while he had 
 been away.
 
 THE MEKCHANT'S CLERK. 239 
 
 4 Will you tell Mr. Grey that I wish to see him ? ' 
 said Mr. Stavers, addressing one of the clerks, with 
 whom he had just been conversing on business ; and 
 obedient to the summons, Godfrey entered the private 
 room. 
 
 ' Be seated,' said the great man, with more urbanity 
 than was usual to his manner, and pointing to a chair 
 near his own ; and Godfrey, obeying his behest, re- 
 mained silent during a pause that was long enough to 
 be awkward. He would almost as soon have thought 
 of first addressing a royal personage, as the usually 
 haughty man before him. 
 
 ' 1 have to thank you,' continued Mr. Stavers, at 
 length, ' I have to thank you, Mr. Grey, for a very 
 important service which you have rendered me ; a 
 service prompted by thoughtful kindness, and executed 
 with equal discretion and firmness.' 
 
 Taken by surprise, having imagined that the private 
 conference had been desired for some purely business 
 purpose, Godfrey answered but the truth, when he 
 said, 'Indeed, Sir, I do not know to what you are 
 alluding.' 
 
 ' Is it possible you can have forgotten is it possi- 
 ble you can doubt my obligation to you ? ' asked Mr. 
 Stavers, in reply ; yet without waiting to be answered, 
 he continued, ' My housekeeper has told me how you 
 acted last week, on on the occasion of of my 
 bereavement ; how you prevented the wounds of my 
 broken heart from being further probed and lacerated 
 by public gossip and idle chatter. And, Sir, I wish 
 you to know how much I thank you.' As he finished 
 speaking, the proud man leaned his head upon his
 
 240 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 hand, so that his face was in a great measure hidden. 
 And Godfrey answered in a choking voice 
 
 ' It was only natural to do as I did : I felt so certain 
 what your feelings must be.' 
 
 ' Yours was an active sympathy, Mr. Grey, and ' 
 
 At that moment there was a tap at the door, and 
 mastering all appearance of emotion in a moment, Mr. 
 Stavers said, * Come in,' quite in a calm tone of voice. 
 
 ' If you please, Sir,' said one of the clerks, just 
 stepping within the room and holding the door in his 
 hand, ' if you please, Sir, there is some one from 
 
 Messrs. B 's with a private note to you, and a 
 
 request that he may see you immediately^ and the 
 speaker laid great stress on the last word. 
 
 ' Tell him to walk in,' replied Mr. Stavers, and 
 while the clerk bowed himself out, the great man 
 added, 'We are interrupted, Mr. Grey, but I shall 
 see you again,' holding out his hand as he spoke. 
 
 I have said before that Mr. Stavers never ' shook 
 hands,' but this was the first time that Godfrey Grey 
 had touched his fingers, through all the long years of 
 their daily intercourse. Tender-hearted, and sympa- 
 thetic as a woman, not to mention the chord in his 
 own life which was touched, poor Godfrey was quite 
 overcome. A mist floated between his eyes and the 
 broad leger to which he returned, confusing black ink 
 and red, and confounding the columns of debtor and 
 creditor. Many manoeuvres were necessary to avoid 
 meeting the glances of his companions, and a great 
 effort was made to speak, when needful, with compo- 
 sure. Moreover, he had no appetite for the frugal 
 dinner, consiting of cold meat and bread, which, ac-
 
 THE MERCHANT'S CLERK. 241 
 
 cording to the practice of the last twelvemonth, he had 
 brought daily in his pocket. For many years previ- 
 ously he had either returned home to dine with his 
 sister, or regaled himself at a chop-house. 
 
 The clocks from the neighboring churches had 
 chimed the hours, two three four half-past five 
 had struck, and this was Godfrey's time for leaving. 
 Some of the juniors stayed a little later, as well as 
 one old man, who had been even longer in the house 
 than Godfrey, and the drudge of two generations. It 
 never entered into the mind of any of them that Mr. 
 Stavers might still be in his room, the door of which 
 was a few inches ajar ; so methodical were his habits, 
 and so invariably did he leave the counting-house be- 
 tween four and five o'clock, usually making his exit 
 through a private side-door. They had not reckoned 
 on one simple truth, that home was home to him no 
 longer, and that he gladly lingered anywhere, far from 
 its precincts. 
 
 ' The old Governor seems cut up about his daugh- 
 ter,' said one of the party, as soon as Godfrey was out 
 of hearing, throwing down his pen, and placing him- 
 self with his back to the fire, keeping off the warmth 
 from every one else, in a manner which is thoroughly 
 vulgar, because thoroughly selfish, but it must be 
 added also, thoroughly English. The speaker was 
 quite an illustrious instance of the commonplace in- 
 different to sentiment, or inclined to ridicule it, because 
 he had little or no feeling himself. ' Yet, what does 
 it signify,' he continued, ' the old fellow has got money 
 enough for two.' 
 
 *I think Grey seems as much cut up as the poor 
 16
 
 242 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 Governor ; indeed, he has not been himself the whole 
 week,' said another clerk, who was married, and a 
 father, and who was a man of a very different stamp 
 from the first speaker. 
 
 * And no wonder,' sighed the old clerk, the ' drudge' 
 already alluded to. 
 
 'No wonder ! why not ? ' exclaimed two or three at 
 once. 
 
 ' I could tell why, if I pleased.' 
 
 ' Then do please,' said the speaker who had first 
 mentioned Godfrey. ' He is not married, he never 
 had a daughter run away from him, had he ? ' 
 
 * I might answer no, and yes, to that question. He 
 never was married, and .never had a daughter; but 
 he and his poor blind sister adopted a little orphan 
 girl, and brought her up with more love than some- 
 times parents show. Bless you, I remember her well 
 enough, years ago. I used often to spend an evening 
 with Grey, and many's the time I have seen little 
 Mary sitting on his knee, with her arms round his 
 neck, her rosy cheek pressed tight against his pale 
 one, and her bright golden curls waving over his 
 shoulders. She used to call him uncle, but he was no 
 relation, I know.' 
 
 'Who was she ? ' asked one of the listeners. 
 
 ' I forget the name, she was never called anything 
 but Mary. But I've a suspicion,' continued the old 
 man, perceiving that his reminiscences seemed inter- 
 esting, and proud of having a story to tell : ' I've more 
 than a suspicion, from many a hint his sister dropped, 
 that she was the daughter of Grey's first love, who 
 married another, and died a beggar.'
 
 THE MERCHANT'S CLERK. 243 
 
 * Grey in love ! well, that is more than I can ima- 
 gine,' said the youth at the fire, pulling up his collar, 
 and passing his fingers through his long hair. 
 
 4 And why not ? ' returned the old man. ' I can tell 
 you, thirty years ago, he was a better-looking fellow 
 than any of you here, and a good soul always. Think 
 how he put up with the fretful ways of his poor sister, 
 who was always fretting and fuming because she 
 could not do what she had done, and what had worn 
 away her eye-sight. I know how he deprived himself 
 of enjoyments to give her luxuries, and how they both 
 lived only to bring up that child ; and then to consider 
 the return she made them, the little minx ! I never 
 think of her without feeling that I should like to box 
 her ears.' 
 
 ' Why, what did she do ? ' drawled out the chief 
 enjoyer of the fire. 
 
 ' Do ! Why, eloped with a mere boy, not able to 
 keep her. Grey tells me there 's no harm about the 
 lad, if he could only get good and regular employ- 
 ment ; but they are miserably poor, and there 's. a 
 young child there too, another Mary ; and I know, 
 what he does not tell me, that he half supports them all, 
 and pinches himself in all manner of ways to do so. 
 And now, I suppose, you can understand how it is 
 that Grey has felt so much for the ' Governor,' as you 
 call him though such slang was not used in my 
 younger days.'
 
 244 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 IT was the following morning, but just at the same 
 hour, and addressing the same person, and using the 
 same words, Mr. Stavers again said, ' Tell Mr. Grey 
 that I wish to see him.' 
 
 And Godfrey, obedient to the summons, and seated 
 in the same chair, and awaiting the termination of just 
 such a pause as that which preceded their brief dis- 
 course the day before, felt for a moment as if the 
 twenty-four hours which had intervened were nought. 
 Yet very seldom does a single day work such a change 
 of thought and feeling as that which had taken place 
 in the heart of Mr. Stavers. 
 
 ' We ^vere interrupted yesterday,' he said, breaking 
 the silence, ' and I do not regret that it was so, for a 
 circumstance, which I need not relate, has shown me, 
 if indeed I required such a proof, how sincerely I have 
 your sympathy. I cannot tell how it is, but so it is, 
 and I am not ashamed to own that the fault must be 
 mine, that we have hitherto been too little known to 
 each other; in short, Mr. Grey, I have not sufficiently 
 appreciated your worth.' 
 
 Alas, for poor human nature ! our powers of appre- 
 ciation are wonderfully quickened by personal liking, 
 and personal liking is marvellously engendered by 
 similarity of suffering ! After all, does not the differ- 
 ence between a great mind and a little one consist in the 
 large experience and extended sympathy of the one, 
 and the narrow views and little feeling of the other? 
 At present Mr. Stavers did not know how much wiser
 
 THE MERCHANT'S CLERK. 245 
 
 and better his recent sorrow and its consequences were 
 making him. To his unexpected harangue Godfrey 
 only answered confusedly 
 
 ' Sir indeed you are very good ' 
 
 ' How many years have you been in our employ ? ' 
 interrupted Mr. Stave rs. 
 
 ' Since I was a boy, Sir, and I am now fifty-five.' 
 ' Good heavens ! All your life through your few 
 joys and your many sorrows, still our faithful, active 
 servant ! How little have I thought of many things 
 which should have had my attention ! But I will 
 make amends for the past, Mr. Grey,' continued Mr. 
 Stavers, extending his hand, and really shaking hands 
 with his clerk ; ' meanwhile, having only heard the 
 outlines of your domestic history, I ask you as a per- 
 sonal favor to communicate to me as much more of it 
 as you can do agreeably to yourself.' 
 
 Startled as he was by so strange a request, Godfrey 
 had no inclination to refuse it, and in his own simple 
 words he related the incidents, which it would be a 
 twice-told tale again to describe. He touched but 
 lightly on the disappointment of his youth ; yet how 
 much was betrayed in the few words, * After that time 
 I never thought of marrying ! ' But when he came 
 to speak of his blind sister and of the orphan girl 
 they both loved so well, his feelings warmed ; and 
 when he dwelt on the bitter sorrow her elopement had 
 occasioned, and how sad was the thought, that with all 
 their love she did not trust it, did not seek their coun- 
 sel, or shrink from deceiving them, Mr. Stavers was 
 visibly affected. He rose from his chair, and paced 
 the room in agitation, exclaiming at last
 
 246 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 ' And yet, Mr. Grey, you have forgiven them 
 you see them you help them, out of your little 
 out of the poverty which in your old age you were 
 willing to encounter, that you might rear that ungrate- 
 ful, heartless girl ! ' 
 
 ' Dear Sir,' interrupted Godfrey, with emotion, ' don't 
 speak hardly of her ; if I think harsh things of her 
 sometimes, I cannot bear that others should say them. 
 I would rather hear excuses made for her. Poor child ! 
 she had no mother ; my afflicted sister was but little 
 companion for her sp'rightly youth ; and as for me, 
 all day, every day in business, I could only love her, 
 with small opportunity of showing her the depth of 
 my affection. My poor Mary ! ' 
 
 The name the same name" how it struck upon 
 the ear of the proud father ! how the words of the 
 poor clerk struck upon his soul ! and what a war of 
 feelings, wishes, fears, intentions, was there at that 
 moment in his heart ! 
 
 ' You, who have ready excuses for your Mary,' ex- 
 claimed Mr. Stavers, 'what apologies have you to 
 offer for mine ? ' 
 
 ' The same,' murmured Godfrey, ' the same, or very 
 similar. Oh ! let us not be hard upon the young ; let 
 us not demand the sacrifice of a whole life as the 
 penalty for one youthful error. Which of us can look 
 back on his own youth, and not feel what a dangerous 
 season it was not acknowledge its strong impulses 
 and shallow reasoning? if we escaped its rocks and 
 quicksands, should we not be thankful rather than 
 vain-glorious ? ' 
 
 There was another pause. ' Mr. Grey,' said Mr.
 
 THE MERCHANT'S CLERK. 247 
 
 Stavers at last, ' you have once voluntarily rendered 
 me a service, will you do me another at my bidding ? 
 I reached Scotland too late to prevent my child's 
 marriage, and I have since refused to see her refused 
 even to open her letters. Will you see her you 
 my sympathizing, confidential friend ? Make no prom- 
 ises, but I charge you with no threats. See Aim, tell 
 rne what he says, what he does, what he looks, and 
 then advise me.' 
 
 Is there need to tell with what tearful joy the poor 
 clerk undertook this glad com'mission? Surely not; 
 but this we may say, that his honest, faithful nature, 
 and his warm and sympathizing heart rendered him 
 the fittest peace-maker that could have been chosen. 
 
 N^ r 
 
 As had been said of the humbler Mary's husband, 
 the young lieutenant ' had no great harm in him,' 
 except his poverty ; and except the dark fault in 
 which both shared, that of tempting a young and 
 loving girl to take an unwomanly step, and wound the 
 heart to which she owed the deepest gratitude. But 
 excellent Godfrey Grey found more apologies for the 
 young people than in their humiliation they knew how 
 to find for themselves. After many interviews with 
 them, he at last was the bearer of forgiveness, and 
 at last brought the father and daughter together. It 
 was the happiest day of Godfrey's life hitherto, yet a 
 few perhaps, still happier are in store for him ! For a 
 large increase of salary for himself, and the patronage 
 of Mr. Stavers for the humbler Mary's young husband, 
 have smoothed down difficulties and removed disagree- 
 ables in a remarkable manner. 
 
 My memoir of the Merchant and his Clerk is draw-
 
 248 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 ing to a close ; but it has failed in its object if it has 
 not shown that people may be in daily personal contact, 
 and yet unknown to each other separated as if by a 
 wall of adamant by pride, coldness, and wrong 
 impressions. It is sad to think how often hearts which 
 have at least each one pulse that thrills in unison with 
 the other, and probably many more chords of sympa- 
 thy, live on in ignorance of the life-sweets they are 
 losing live on, often and often all through long lives, 
 because they do not make opportunities for knowing 
 each other better, instead of waiting for the rare occa- 
 sions which sometimes establish sympathy a sym- 
 pathy all the more precious and soul-enlarging, if it 
 exist between human beings widely separated by for- 
 tune and station.
 
 OUR NEW SHOPS. 
 
 IT is not worth while to point out a precise locality 
 for the story I have to tell. Every one knows how 
 new neighborhoods arise on the outskirts of old ones, 
 springing up by the builder's art with almost the 
 rapidity of enchantment ; altering the map of the dis- 
 trict completely, and puzzling the ' oldest inhabitant' 
 to find his way about, should business or pleasure have 
 driven him from home for even a few weeks, or illness 
 have kept him within the house. I always feel an 
 interest in the first occupants of pretty new houses. 
 Whether they are a young couple just arrived from 
 the bridal tour, in the busy delight of arranging their 
 dwelling, and preparing for the half dreaded reception 
 days ; or a staid elderly pair retiring from business, 
 and looking forward to a serene old age, earned and 
 deserved by the untiring industry of youth and middle 
 life, there always seems to be a fresh start in existence 
 associated with a new house, and a halo of hope shed 
 about it, which seldom belong to the adoption of a long 
 used, if not time-honored residence. And if such 
 feelings are associated with the ' Terraces,' and the 
 ' Crescents,' and the pretty cottages, called Gothic,
 
 250 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 perhaps, but belong to no order of architecture under 
 the sun, they certainly exist in a tenfold degree in 
 reference to the rows of new shops, which periain to a 
 new neighborhood, in an indispensable manner. True, 
 at the first glance the subject may seem less pictur- 
 esque, but the interest arising from it is far more 
 intense : just as to my mind the thronging associations 
 of London itself are more full of heart-stirring poetry, 
 than the loveliest scenes over which a painter ever 
 revelled. 
 
 The bold adventurers the first occupants of the 
 new shops ! The broad outlines of their histories are 
 often very similar. Too poor to buy an established 
 business, they seek a new neighborhood with the hope 
 of making one ; and raise the money necessary for 
 even this purpose, by stratagems and self-denial, and 
 the sacrifice of independence, and too often a suffer- 
 ance of painful obligation, of which the affluent and 
 well to do can form but a faint idea. There is no 
 doubt that a new shop just as youth can dispense 
 with many of the adventitious ornaments of dress 
 may make a respectable appearance with fewer 
 equipments than are necessary to the old dusty, rusty 
 looking shelves and counter. Besides, for a consider- 
 able time, it looks as if it were still undergoing the 
 process of furnishing, and a visitor is inclined to judge 
 favorably of the future from the promises of the 
 present. If the first occupant can struggle through a 
 twelvemonth, he has a fair chance of success, but how 
 often do we find, at the end of less than half that time, 
 the shutters closed, and a board affixed indicating that 
 the house is again to let: or perhaps the announce-
 
 OUR NEW SHOPS. 251 
 
 ment 'This shop will be opened next week as a 
 butcher's ; ' or the linen-draper's converted into a 
 cheesemonger's with almost the dexterity which fol- 
 lows the touch of a harlequin's wand. And then 
 comes a new question an enigma for time to solve 
 will the second comer be more fortunate than his 
 predecessor, or he too be a Curtius in the gulf ? As 
 genius that ' is before its time ' fails to be appreciated, 
 and finds no portion of the earth's inheritance par- 
 celled out for its mundane uses ; so the shopkeeper 
 who comes before he is wanted, meets a bitter lot, and 
 barrenness in return for all his industry ! 
 
 Our New Shops stand in the high road; where it 
 seems but the other day was all open ground, with a 
 ditch running between it and the path : were the day ever 
 so calm, there was always a breeze in passing along, 
 and in boisterous weather one found oneself between 
 the Scylla and Charybdis of the ditch and the road, 
 whither weak-limbed pedestrians were often drifted at 
 the will of the winds. But the land was drained ; the 
 ditch dried up ; foundations sunk ; and houses built 
 before half the neighbors knew what was going to 
 happen ; and wonderment as to what shops they would 
 be had not half exhausted itself, when their physiog- 
 nomy was openly revealed, and cards and notes sent 
 round to every house, soliciting patronage, and promis- 
 ing, of course, ' dispatch and punctuality,' the ' best ' 
 goods at the ' lowest' prices, ' indefatigable attention,' 
 and the ' newest improvements.' 
 
 The houses were finished, and the first occupants 
 entered within a very few weeks of each other ; and 
 great was the sensation created thereby. Everybody
 
 252 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 was inclined to ' try ' something from the new shops, 
 and from the proverbial excellence of samples most 
 people were satisfied with the results. Nevertheless, 
 by that principle of conservatism which is part of the 
 national character, the greater number of temporary 
 customers went back to their old tradespeople, putting 
 up with the inconvenience of the distance so often 
 complained of in the ' olden time.' To the thoughtful 
 observer, it was pretty evident the new shops would 
 have a hard struggle, ere they could be expected to 
 prosper. Now as necessaries are sought before luxu- 
 ries, it may be taken as a pretty general rule, that the 
 dealers in food settling in a new neighborhood have a 
 better chance of success than they who open empo- 
 riums of more superfluous articles. People have daily 
 need of bread, and meat, and tea, and butter, and 
 commonly procure them at the nearest depot, whereas 
 they can bide their time about the purchase of a new 
 coat or dress, and commonly take the recommenda- 
 tion of a friend in selecting a silversmith or uphol- 
 sterer. Consequently, the butcher, the baker, and the 
 general dealer, were among the new comers those who 
 flourished the most speedily and decidedly ; and it is 
 to the last mentioned I would more particularly refer. 
 
 George West was a young man of five or six and 
 twenty. He had started in business with the advan- 
 tage of being unincumbered by debt, having recently 
 inherited a legacy of a few hundred pounds from a 
 relative, which money had stocked his shop and fur- 
 nished his house, and left him still somewhat before 
 the world. He could afford to wait a little while till 
 business gathered round him ; and gather it did, for in
 
 OUR NEW SHOPS. 253 
 
 the first place such a shop as his was greatly wanted 
 in the district, and secondly he had good articles, which 
 joined to strict integrity and attention on his part soon 
 won him patrons and friends. Occupied with his 
 business and intent upon it, he had small time for 
 either listening to, or repeating gossip, and perhaps 
 knew less of the affairs of his neighbors than any one 
 in the ' row.' Pretty near all he did glean was from 
 his woman-servant, a middle-aged body who had been 
 in the service of his deceased uncle many years, and 
 who now thought herself entitled to advise her youth- 
 ful employer in all matters in which it appeared to 
 her that experience should give her authority. Truth 
 to tell, Patty was not always a good angel at her 
 master's elbow. The same advice which is very 
 valuable to the open-handed or the spendthrift, may be 
 something more than unnecessary to one whose exam- 
 ple has been parsimony, and whose habits are frugal. 
 George West was not by nature either mean or selfish, 
 but at this time he was very much the creature of early 
 habits and example, and he certainly loved money 
 without very clearly defining if it were for itself or its 
 noble uses. 
 
 It was commonly while laying the cloth for her 
 master's bread and cheese supper, after the shop was 
 closed, that Patty opened her budget. By the way, 
 Patty belonged to the old school, and was quite op- 
 posed to the early closing movement : she thought 
 shopkeepers should take money as long as it was 
 offered them, and was far too obtuse to understand that 
 if people could not purchase what they wanted after 
 six o'clock, they would contrive to do so before. She
 
 254 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 thought reading and improving the mind all ' rubbish,' 
 or, at best, only ' fit for gentlefolks.' And yet Patty 
 was not hard-hearted, she was only ignorant and 
 prejudiced. Only! Alas, what an admission for 
 ignorance and prejudice are more fruitful causes of 
 suffering than hard-heartedness itself! 
 
 ' Have the Smiths paid that bill ? ' asked Patty, as 
 she placed the loaf upon the table. 
 
 ' No,' replied West, * I think I will send in for it 
 to-morrow.' 
 
 ' You'll not get it for once sending, I can tell you,' 
 continued Martha ; ' they are all going to the mischief, 
 it is pretty plain. Hardly a bit of business doing 
 go in when you will though that stuck-up son makes 
 himself mighty busy, rolling and unrolling the silks 
 and the ribbons, to hide that he has nothing better to 
 do.' 
 
 ' I am very sorry,' said West, ' for really they seem 
 a respectable and industrious family.' 
 
 ' Respectable, indeed ! respectable people pay their 
 bills every week.' 
 
 ' Well, I'll send in to-morrow ; I should not like to 
 lose my money.' 
 
 ' I should think not, indeed ! Then there's the 
 Burtons next door pray do you ever expect to see 
 their two pound fifteen and sixpence ? ' 
 
 ' Perhaps not,' said the young tradesman with a 
 sigh, ' but the loss will not ruin me, and I cannot 
 find in my heart to be hard upon a lone widow 
 woman.' 
 
 ' Mr. George ! ' exclaimed Patty, dropping a knife, 
 and very nearly damaging the crockery, in her aston-
 
 OUR NEW SHOPS. 255 
 
 ishment and indignation, ' that's not the way to do 
 business. I'm sure it's enough to bring your dear dead 
 uncle out of his grave, to hear you talk so. Lone 
 widow, indeed ! Lone widows should not run into 
 debt, and then they would keep out of trouble. But I 
 spoke my mind this morning, I can tell you.' 
 
 ' You did ! And whom to ? ' replied West, starting 
 in his chair. 
 
 ' Why to that minx of a daughter. Just to look at 
 her little white hands when she ties up a parcel, or lifts 
 down a book, might convince any one they had never 
 done a day's work in her life : and pride and poverty 
 is what I can't abide.' 
 
 ' I never saw any pride,' said George West, gravely, 
 1 and I am very sorry, very angry, Martha, if you have 
 been rude about the bill. Even if they are proud, you 
 ought to make some allowance, for Miss Burton has 
 been genteelly brought up ; her father was a gentle- 
 man, they say, and it's a great fall in the world to 
 come down to keeping a little stationer's shop and 
 circulating library.' 
 
 ' A pretty gentleman, indeed ! That did'nt leave 
 enough to bury him. I tell you what, Mr. George, 
 gentility is just worth what grist it will bring to the 
 mill, and I don't understand what it has to do with 
 your two pound fifteen and sixpence,' and the elderly 
 spinster bounced out of the room in anything but a 
 gentle mood. 
 
 George West felt more annoyed than he had done 
 for a long time. He did not relish his frugal supper 
 so much as usual ; and his uncomfortable feelings 
 even disturbed his rest. The way to confer a kindness
 
 256 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 delicately seldom occurs very readily to people unac- 
 customed to such an exercise ; and it must be owned 
 the nobler qualities of his heart were at present, for 
 want of exercise, but partially developed. And yet a 
 sort of instinct prompted him to do something to remove 
 the unpleasant impression he felt sure his officious ser- 
 vant had created. Certainly, Patty had anything but a 
 blessing from her young master that night ; but finally, 
 he resolved that he would go into the stationer's shop 
 the next day, make some purchase, and see what 
 turn events might take. And this resolution arrived 
 at, he fell asleep, and dreamed of the price of 
 sugars, and a shameful imposition of sloe-leaves for 
 tea! 
 
 Alas ! for poor Mrs. Burton's speculation ! She was 
 ' before her time : ' a fancy stationer's or circulating 
 library was not yet wanted in the new neighborhood ; 
 and the absence of occupation for herself and daugh- 
 ter in the business of the shop, gave ample leisure for 
 thought sad recollections of the past and gloomy 
 forebodings for the future. Alice was indefatigable in 
 her exertions. The most tasteful articles which orna- 
 mented the shop window, and attracted the passers by, 
 were made by her; and the Berlin wool-work which 
 had lately been added to their stock were all improve- 
 ments upon the formal patterns. It was about seven 
 o'clock on a summer evening, and she was seated in 
 the little back parlor, busily employed on a large piece 
 of canvass, when George West paid his intended visit. 
 Not a step had crossed the threshold for the last hour ; 
 and the widow moved quickly forward to ask the 
 stranger's wishes for she did not at the moment re-
 
 OTTR NEW SHOPS. 257 
 
 cognise her ' creditor.' Attired in his holiday suit, and 
 with scrupulous neatness, the young tradesman looked 
 a different personage from the eager man of business 
 behind his counter. Alice had involuntarily looked up 
 and acknowledged her recognition of their neighbor 
 by a slight bow, but had bent again immediately over 
 her work. 
 
 Perhaps had Alice Burton sat for her picture, she 
 would not have appeared to more advantage than she 
 did on this chance occasion. Her well-fitting mourning 
 dress set off her slight but symmetrical figure to advan- 
 tage, and contrasted favorably with a complexion that 
 was pale without being sickly. The slanting rays of 
 the western sun threw her person into shadow, con- 
 cealing the shabbiness of her attire, but glancing on 
 the plaited masses of her rich brown hair, and drawing 
 out that golden light which only sunshine can. While 
 the bright tints of scarlet, and purple, and green, and 
 amber wools growing into meaning beneath her fingers 
 were not without their effect. 
 
 The widow's cheek flushed from many painful 
 emotions, as she recognised young West ; for she had 
 little doubt he came to require the payment of a bill 
 she had not the money to discharge. How was she 
 surprised when, instead of alluding to it, he made 
 friendly inquiries about the health of herself and Miss 
 Burton offered some commonplace remarks on the 
 weather, and then inquired the price of a pair of screens 
 which were exhibited for sale in the window. 
 
 'Alice, my love,' said Mrs. Burton, appealing to her 
 daughter, ' I do not understand this mark, will you tell 
 me what these are prized at ? ' 
 17
 
 258 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 And Alice came forward to give the desired infor- 
 mation, in the doing which it was elicited that the 
 screens were painted by her. Had the sum been five 
 times that named, George West would now have made 
 the purchase ; as it was, without demur he took the 
 money from his pocket, watching the while every 
 movement of the white hands which Patty had re- 
 marked as they folded the screens in paper. Again 
 the color mounted to Mrs. Burton's cheek as she gently 
 pushed back the sovereign he had laid down for 
 change, saying 'No, Sir, we are in your debt much 
 more than this pray let your purchase be placed to 
 that account.' 
 
 It was George West's turn now to look confused. 
 The proposition was so reasonable and natural a one, 
 that he had nothing to say against it, and yet the idea 
 of her painting being bartered for such commodities 
 as sugar and cheese, and soap and candles, had some- 
 thing in it against which his feelings revolted. There 
 seemed to be no other plan of soothing them than to 
 make his purchases far outweigh the amount of the 
 widow's debt. He looked round there was nothing 
 else of Alice's work which it would not have seemed 
 absurd for him to appropriate ; and meanwhile he had 
 fallen into conversation with her, during which allusion 
 was made to the cheap literature of the day, the most 
 choice of which lay in profusion on the counter. Alice 
 possessed that fine taste which in all things instinctively 
 selects the good and leaves the indifferent, as refuse ; 
 and though really but little indebted to teachers for in- 
 struction, she was for her station in life well informed. 
 The young tradesman felt her superiority, but without
 
 OUR NEW SHOPS. 259 
 
 any painful humiliation to himself. It only made his 
 reverence and admiration the deeper ; and at the 
 recommendation of Alice he expended several pounds 
 in books, and in purchasing sets and back numbers of 
 established publications. 
 
 But George West could not stand all the evening 
 talking across the counter; and from a mingled feeling 
 of pride, and sense of obligation, and many emotions 
 she would have been at a loss to analyze, Mrs. Burton 
 did not invite him into the parlor. As for Hatty's in- 
 dignation on discovering her master's ' extravagance,' 
 anything short of her own vocabulary would be insuf- 
 ficient to describe it. A vivid imagination may picture 
 the scene which followed a scene that would have 
 been entirely ludicrous, had there not been something 
 really piteous in the old woman's evident anguish. 
 The screens not suspecting they were Alice's own 
 production she might have tolerated. ' Yes, they 
 were pretty, and would look well on the up-stairs 
 chimney-piece not that he wanted such things at 
 all : but as for books what good could they do him ? 
 what use were they, except to come into the shop 
 as waste-paper ? ' Poor Martha ! for one must pity 
 a deposed tyrant and not suspecting that a new dy- 
 nasty was established, she believed that chaos was come 
 again in the wreck and revolution she witnessed. TRe 
 tears rolled down her withered cheeks as she left her 
 master after supper, with a fresh candle just set up, 
 and the pile of his new purchases by his side. Her 
 prophetic fears told her that he would read till mid- 
 night, and she turned away with gesture and expression
 
 260 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 something like those of Hogarth's steward in the 
 Marriage a-la-Mode ! 
 
 And night after night was Martha doomed to witness 
 a similar arrangement. At first, George West devoted 
 the end of his toiling day to reading, because the books 
 and journals he had purchased were those Alice Burton 
 had recommended ; but as weeks and months passed 
 on, and these were exhausted and fresh ones procured, 
 he read because the enlargement and cultivation of 
 his mind had grown to be a moral want of his nature. 
 What a debt of obligation he owed to the gentle girl 
 who had thus led him to a new and brighter world than 
 that he had dwelt in before ! A debt which from the 
 depths of his heart he understood and acknowledged. 
 Yet, as day by day he became really more worthy of 
 the love to which he had aspired, his own diffidence 
 increased till he shuddered to remember how, in the 
 early days of their acquaintance, he had dared almost 
 to avow his admiration, and had met with a silent yet 
 chilling rebuke, which he now felt was less severe than 
 his presumption merited. 
 
 And who was Alice Burton, who had worked such 
 a spell on the heart of the thrifty thriving tradesman ? 
 Only a very woman such as thank God ! the world 
 abounds with. It was true her father had been ' a 
 gentleman,' an officer whom adverse fortune had com- 
 pelled to sell his commission ; but through such straits 
 of poverty and sore distress had Alice been reared, 
 that her advantages of education had really been infi- 
 nitely inferior to those of George West. It was the 
 instinct of her sex and her nature which had taught 
 her, apparently from such sterile opportunities, taste,
 
 OUR NEW SHOPS. 261 
 
 refinement, and that peculiar understanding of the 
 fitness of all things, which is a gift to the soul only 
 second to genius itself. Who can fathom the myste- 
 rious laws by which the odorous garden-flower de- 
 velops its beautiful being from the same soil and 
 atmosphere that feed a thousand noxious weeds ? 
 
 Oh, Love Love ! That tale as old as Eve in 
 Paradise, and yet for ever new ; that Power which has 
 swayed the hearts of the world's rulers, and yet given 
 strength to the weakest, and taken refuge in the breast 
 of the hind. Love, the sustainer ennobler and 
 purifier ; for no one ever really loved without becom- 
 ing however good and great before a better and 
 nobler being. Thousands pass off the stage of life 
 aye, spouses and parents too in utter ignorance of 
 that Divine Mystery, or mistaking for that which is the 
 most generous emotion of the soul, a degrading and 
 selfish passion. Let us hope all things from the nature 
 that is capable of loving ; and let us cease to rail at 
 a world which Love illumines, even though its light 
 shines fitfully and feebly, obscured by the mists of 
 narrow teaching, and its tongue is constrained to 
 silence by senseless deafening raillery. Let the Poets 
 plead : they are the only Truth Tellers ! 
 
 The true Lover is no selfish idle dreamer ; be his 
 station what it may, he must act the poetry his heart 
 conceives : and George West was no exception to the 
 rule. During the very time that his evenings were 
 devoted to the cultivation of his mind, and every hope 
 of his heart was centred in the thought of growing 
 more worthy of Alice Burton, his business increased 
 beyond his warmest expectations. Nor was this sur-
 
 262 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 prising. No time-exhausting, or expensive, or thought- 
 distracting pleasures, had taken him from the duties of 
 his station ; and in a few months he was the most pros- 
 perous tradesman in the * row.' Already had he saved 
 sufficient money to carry out what had once been a 
 most dear object the purchase of the house he occu- 
 pied. But now it must be differently bestowed ; he 
 became the owner of the ' next door,' taking upon 
 himself the arrears of rent due from Mrs. Burton, and 
 becoming, be sure, a lenient landlord. 
 
 Not yet had a word of love been spoken, though 
 both remembered the occasion which George thought 
 of with so much regret. On the part of Alice, too, 
 there was some remorse : now she felt that she had 
 been unnecessarily cold and harsh. How strange the 
 change his silent, respectful homage had effected, aye, 
 and the change which had taken place in his whole 
 bearing and character since Love's holy influence had 
 sway. Alice wondered if he really were altered, or if 
 it had been some strange fancy which had painted him 
 on their first acquaintance as commonplace and unin- 
 teresting. 
 
 Again Alice sat in the little parlor, with the bright- 
 hued threads growing into forms of beauty beneath her 
 fingers. But now the season was towards the close of 
 a long and dreary winter ; and instead of western sun- 
 light, the flickering fire and the beams of a shaded 
 lamp lit up the room. Mrs. Burton was engaged in 
 attending to the wants of two or three ladies in the 
 shop, and agitated and excited by some information 
 she had just received, was anything but expeditious in 
 supplying them. She had learned within that hour that
 
 OUR NEW SHOPS. 263 
 
 their young neighbor was now their landlord ; and on 
 this fact, relying, as she did, on his forbearance with 
 regard to the arrears of rent, she built anew bright 
 hopes of ultimate success, and of, at last, a thriving 
 business. Like the over-sanguine in general, she be- 
 lieved that time was all she needed. 
 
 It was at this moment George West entered, and 
 nodding good-humoredly to Mrs. Burton, passed on, 
 with the familiarity of an intimate acquaintance, to the 
 little parlor. Alice had thought he would come in that 
 evening, and yet his step made her heart beat more 
 quickly that heart which was so full of strange con- 
 tending feelings, and in which gratitude was to her own 
 consciousness the most apparent. Her embarrassment 
 was evident ; yet it did not pain George West : on the 
 contrary he saw in it something of encouragement, and 
 he grew emboldened enough to hold her hand for a 
 moment longer than ordinary greeting demanded. 
 Alice blushed, and the tears started nay, rolled 
 down her cheeks, as she felt constrained to utter some 
 expressions of gratitude ; for the widow and her daugh- 
 ter had already received many kindnesses at his hands, 
 and it would have been affectation to have seemed 
 ignorant of the generous purpose which had actuated 
 his purchase of the house. George West stammered 
 forth some commonplace rejoinder ; but that moment 
 of confusion broke away a barrier of reserve ; for the 
 first time a wild hope darted through his frame, that 
 Alice deigned to regard him a thought more warmly 
 than as a kind friend ; while on her part she could no 
 longer doubt that she was the object of a deep attach-
 
 264 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 ment. With this knowledge came a thorough appre- 
 ciation of his generous forbearance. 
 
 Time had been when Alice Burton, despite her own 
 fallen fortunes, had been strongly imbued with the 
 foolishest of all foolish false pride ; that which attaches 
 nominal rank to nominal station. But though yet 
 little more than twenty years old, the sorrows and 
 struggles of life, and contact with its realities, had 
 taught her a nobler lesson. In the days when even 
 sumptuary laws prevailed, things were very different. 
 But now, with a wiser generation, class distinctions 
 have really little or no weight. True, we still decline 
 associating intimately with the masses greatly below 
 us in station ; but only because, for the most part, they 
 are deficient in the cultivation of mind which would 
 render them companions ; in the tone of feeling con- 
 genial to our own ; and in those manners and habits 
 which are the atmosphere of our social existence. 
 The ignorant and vulgar are too apt to slight the last 
 attributes as frivolous and unmeaning attainments ; but 
 a wider grasp of thought will teach them that a whole- 
 some refinement of manner is but the outward sign of 
 an indescribable but all-prevading essence most essen- 
 tial to real Progress. Let the individual, though still 
 remaining of his class, yet raise himself by his mental 
 and moral qualities above its standard, and he will 
 find the ready hand held out no shrinking on the 
 part of his so-called superiors from equalizing associa- 
 tion. 
 
 Alice Burton had grown to think George West as 
 
 complete a ' gentleman ' as she had ever known 
 
 But why go on ? The reader has already arrived at
 
 OUR NEW SHOPS. 265 
 
 the sequel, and intermediate details are becoming 
 tedious. But it was not that night he dared to breathe 
 his tale, no, nor for many subsequent evenings, when 
 he sat watching her nimble fingers, and really saying 
 very little, considering how much there was he longed 
 to tell ! At last it was some weeks afterwards, and 
 Mrs. Burton had been more than commonly engaged 
 in the shop some word was dropped they hardly 
 know themselves how it came about in short, it was 
 the old yet ever new scene, which everybody can 
 either remember or imagine. Tears confessions 
 
 endearing words not vows there was no occa- 
 sion for them, being but too often the spurious coinage 
 of insincerity. 
 
 All this happened three years since ! There was a 
 wedding long ago. Mrs. West is very seldom seen in 
 her husband's business ; but she is an excellent wife, 
 nevertheless, and manages his household and keeps 
 his accounts admirably. Nor are these any trifling 
 tasks, I assure you ; for he has been obliged to pur- 
 chase the other ' next door,' and throw it into his own 
 shop, and has full employment for several busy assist- 
 ants. Mrs. Burton has also by this time an excellent 
 business, and, to tell a family secret, is to pay rent for 
 her house, some day or another. 
 
 I had nearly forgotten to chronicle Patty's destiny. 
 She could not live under the new system of things 
 
 the attempt would have broken her heart. And so 
 she has gone to reside with her friends in the country, 
 on the savings of her long and penurious life. Be sure 
 her nephews and nieces have due reverence for her
 
 266 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 opinions, and avoid offering her any temptations to 
 extravagance. They believe, above all things, in mat- 
 tresses stuffed with bank notes, and old stockings full 
 of gold !
 
 A STORY OF WAYS AND MEANS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 IN their dull, dim parlor, Mrs. Hargrave and her 
 daughter were seated ; Caroline on a footstool by 
 her mother's side. The house was in one of those 
 grey-looking streets which abound in London, though 
 many a denizen of the metropolis little heeds their 
 existence. Branching indirectly from, and therefore 
 generally parallel with, some great thoroughfare, they 
 are thoroughfares themselves, but threaded so little 
 as such, that the fact is almost forgotten, till the neces- 
 sary (or unnecessary) nuisance of a paving perplex- 
 ity breaks up the high road, dams up the stream of 
 traffic, and sends its rushing tide of vehicles for days 
 or weeks together down the ' quiet street,' waking 
 its slumbering echoes with a ceaseless roar, breaking 
 the nightly repose of its inhabitants, and working 
 a revolution in its local customs. But the street I 
 mean was distinguished by a further peculiarity from 
 the general class to which it belonged. It was an 
 artist-street, the sign thereof being that here and there 
 a window, as if regardless of the symmetry of out- 
 ward appearance, soared upwards, apparently ambi- 
 tious of communicating with its neighbor overhead,
 
 268 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 And Mr. Hargrave was a painter ; one of a band so 
 numerous, that no one can fancy, in the description 
 of him, that an individual is sketched. A man of 
 talent, not genius; with more aspiration than power; 
 and imbued with that selfish, self-willed egotism which, 
 though it may sometimes overshadow a great mind, 
 much oftener dwarfs to still narrower dimensions, and 
 shrivels up a little one. 
 
 I have said it was a dull, dim parlor, but not a dirty 
 or dingy one ; for neatness and cleanliness were as 
 apparent as the shabbiness of the furniture. If curtains 
 and chair covers were faded, it was from washing 
 as well as from wear. Poverty reigned there with his 
 iron sceptre, and his heel on all the flowers of life, 
 but he wore a mask, half pride, half resignation, and 
 his aspect was less repellant than it often is, when his 
 rule is far less cruel and despotic. The first floor of 
 the house was occupied by the artist as a studio. 
 There pictures were painted which did, or did not, 
 bring golden returns; there patrons the few he had 
 
 were received ; and there he indulged his dreams of 
 future fame and appreciation, railing at the dullness of 
 the multitude, because it failed to call him great, and 
 
 in one sense happily for himself wrapping him- 
 self in his self-consciousness as in a protecting gar- 
 ment of egotism, which shut out all the vulgar cares 
 of life. He little thought and he could not have 
 been made to comprehend that his very selfishness 
 was the barrier to true greatness. Intellect, knowledge, 
 learning, a life-long practice in the mechanism of his 
 Art all these he had, but he wanted the generous 
 pulse of feeling which would have added a soul to the
 
 A STORY OF WAYS AND MEANS. 269 
 
 evidences of mind, and warmed with the heart-fire of 
 Genius his clever cold creations ! 
 
 He did not know and he could not have been 
 taught to comprehend that the calm, patient, care- 
 worn wife, deputed to the ignoble tasks of domestic 
 drudgery ; to the ingenious stratagems by which she 
 strove to make one sovereign fulfil the legitimate ser- 
 vices of two ; and to the painful interviews when press- 
 ing tradesmen begged the settlement of long standing 
 accounts ; had acted a finer poem in her forty years 
 of life, than his brain had ever imagined, or his pen- 
 cil executed. I have said that she and her daughter 
 were seated in that dark parlor, but few would have 
 guessed how occupied. The employment will appear 
 little profitable, nay, perhaps on the contraiy, it may 
 seem to belong to the pomps and vanities of life. 
 Briefly, then, by the mingled lights of winter twilight 
 and a bright, if not large fire, she was plaiting and 
 braiding her daughter's rich dark hair. From Caro- 
 line's early childhood it had been the doting mother's 
 pride ; no other hand had ever tended it, from the days 
 of the golden curls, through all their deepening shades, 
 till now, in its rich profusion, her hair was of that dark 
 hue which looks black until sun-light or fire-light 
 brings out its greater brilliance. Helpful in most 
 things beyond the average of her age and condition, 
 in one respect Caroline Hargrave was helpless to the 
 last degree. Beyond gathering up her long hair with 
 a comb, or parting it in thick locks, when damp from 
 its frequent bath, the maiden of sixteen had not a no- 
 tion of arranging her greatest adornment. Deep and 
 beautiful as was the mutual attachment of the mother
 
 270 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 and her only child, to my mind there was something 
 touching in the phase of it I am describing. The sym- 
 metrical figure bursting into the perfection of its rounded 
 beauty, was little likely to have gayer apparel than the 
 home-made cotton gown ; the little foot was commonly 
 disguised in cheap and clumsy shoes ; the small and 
 well shaped hand had never known a Parisian glove ; 
 and her fair young face and violet blue eyes had never 
 been 'set off' by the witchery of a ' darling' bonnet. 
 The coarsest straw, or dowdy combinations of myste- 
 rious manufacture were the only head-gear she had 
 ever possessed but the beautiful hair ! that at least 
 the mother could control, and limb-wearied, or mind- 
 wearied, early or late, some hour of the day she 
 would surely find, in which, with practised hand and 
 loving gesture to wreath its wavy masses, one day in 
 one fashion, the next in some other, till one might 
 have thought variety itself was exhausted. 
 
 ' Mamma,' said Caroline, looking up with a smile, 
 and an expression of countenance that seemed a laugh- 
 ing contradiction to her words, ' Mamma, do you know 
 I am very vain of my hair ! ' 
 
 * Not vain, my love, I am sure,' said Mrs. Hargrave, 
 shaping as she spoke, a massive plait like a coronet 
 for the young head that leaned upon her knee. ' Not 
 vain, I am sure, though of course you know it is beau- 
 tiful.' 
 
 ' Dear mamma ! cannot you tell what I mean ? ' ex- 
 claimed Caroline, ' that 1 must have been deaf or blind 
 last night, not to discover how beautifully you had dress- 
 ed it. Really, I felt what lady Fitzroy said was quite 
 true, that no lady's in the room looked so well as mine.
 
 A STORY OF WAYS AND MEANS. 271 
 
 And I thought how kind and how clever my dear 
 mamma was, and how much I wished she had been 
 there to hear her tasteful work admired.' And Caro- 
 line kissed the hand that was conveniently near her 
 lips. 
 
 ' Ah, I have been so busy all the morning, that you 
 have not told me half the particulars of the ball yet 
 your first ball, too. Did you really enjoy it, my 
 darling ? ' 
 
 ' Oh yes, was it not kind of Miss Graham to invite 
 me?' 
 
 Now Miss Graham was what might be called a 
 young old maid, rich and generous, good and clever, 
 and handsome enough to make a very handsome 
 portrait, for the which she had recently sat to Mr. 
 Hargrave. The painter despised with most supreme 
 contempt that branch of his art, by which alone a 
 twenty pound note was likely to find its way into his 
 house ; and had he suspected that his sitter really cared 
 very little whether the portrait were a likeness or not, 
 and merely thus employed him, as a delicate man- 
 ner of benefiting his wife and daughter, it is probable 
 contempt and indignation would have prevented him 
 undertaking the commission. Yet such was the truth, 
 and when to this trait of her character is added the fact 
 that a week before the ball, she sent Caroline a quan- 
 tity of India muslin, with the prettiest of notes, beg- 
 ging her acceptance of the same, saying, that she had 
 received a present of several pieces from a cousin in 
 the east, (so she had seven years ago,) and leaving her 
 to suppose this was one of them, though really pur- 
 chased that morning at Howell's when this second
 
 272 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 trait of character is perceived, and understood, the dis- 
 criminating reader will be intimately acquainted with 
 the shrewd, generous, rather eccentric, but very high- 
 hearted Emily Graham. 
 
 'Tell me,' continued Mrs. Hargrave, recalling to 
 her mind, as it were a picture, the figure of her young 
 daughter as she had appeared the night before in her 
 filmy, floating muslin robe, and her rich dark hair, 
 without on either the addition or adornment of a gem 
 or a flower, ' tell me,' she continued, * did you dance 
 much, and who was it that found you partners ? ' 
 
 ' Miss Graham herself,' said Caroline, ' and not only 
 did she introduce me to partners, but to several ladies 
 who were there, calling me her " young friend ; " 
 was not this kind and considerate ? And do you know, 
 I liked better to talk to them than to the strange gen- 
 tlemen ? The latter asked me about operas, and 
 theatres, and books I had never read, and I could only 
 say, " I don't know " to all that was said. And then 
 I felt confused, and that made me seem sillier than 
 ever.' 
 
 * But the ladies,' said Mrs. Hargrave, with a smile, 
 ' praised your hair, and so you felt at home in the dis- 
 course, was that it, Caroline ? ' 
 
 4 Dear mamma, can you think me so foolish ? The 
 ladies talked to me about many things, and when I 
 seemed ignorant, enlightened me. I did not feel con- 
 fused at all with them, and I can hardly tell how it 
 came about that Lady Fitzroy admired my hair, and 
 called her daughter to observe its arrangement, recom- 
 mending her to describe the style to her French maid 
 Annette.'
 
 A STORY OF WAYS AND MEANS. 273 
 
 ' Then I suppose we shall have the honor of estab- 
 lishing a fashion, my child.' 
 
 * I do not think so,' replied Caroline, * for the young 
 lady shook her head, and said, ' that if her maid could 
 dress hair with half the simple grace that mine dis. 
 played, she might soon make a fortune at no other 
 employment.' 
 
 Mrs. Hargrave was twining the last loose tress round 
 her fingers while Caroline spoke, and the daughter 
 did not remark that she paused a moment dropping 
 her hands for that instant on the young girl's shoulder. 
 Then quickly completing her self-appointed task, the 
 mother stooped to kiss the smooth fair brow before 
 her, and dismissed her child with one of those fond 
 words which are the sweetest music loving lips can 
 utter, when, tuned by one heart's key-note, they reach 
 another no less warm. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE scene is again the parlor in the ' quiet street ;' 
 but three years have passed, and busy as old Time 
 must have been about more important matters, he had 
 condescended to leave there agreeable evidence of his 
 passage. The room was no longer dim and dull ; on 
 the contrary, it wore a decided air of substantial com- 
 fort. Instead of worn and faded chintz, thick curtains 
 of a plain but serviceable manufacture, kept out the 
 wintry air : a warm carpet felt soft to the feet ; an 
 easy chair stretched out its inviting arms on one side 
 18
 
 274 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 of the fire, whilst on the other a comfortable couch 
 extended its length. Nor was the room without an 
 ornament. Opposite to the chimney-glass, and reflected 
 therein so that the picture seemed always present, was a 
 beautiful portrait of Caroline Hargrave in truth, one 
 of her father's most successful productions. Represent- 
 ing her simply attired in white, it recalled precisely 
 her appearance on the eventful night of her first ball ; 
 and at the moment of which we are speaking the 
 original was not by, to invite comparisons. 
 
 Mrs. Hargrave was seated on the couch, and beside 
 her was a gentleman, a young man of three or four 
 and twenty, who though deeply interested in the conver- 
 sation which was going on, and looking withal remark- 
 ably happy, yet raised his eyes every now and then 
 either to the portrait or its reflection, as if it were the 
 presiding deity of the place. Although three years 
 had passed, so far from the lady looking older, the 
 case was absolutely the reverse ; a truth which was 
 the more apparent from the circumstance of her being 
 much better dressed than before, wearing on this occa- 
 sion a quiet and matronly dress of dark satin. Her 
 habitual expression now was one of repose and con- 
 tentment, but at this moment it was lighted by a visible 
 half-tearful gladness, and yet ruffled by some feeling 
 that partook of anxiety. 
 
 ' Why will you,' exclaimed Wilton Bromley, for we 
 will take up their discourse at the minute when Asmo- 
 deous-like, we look in, ' why will you, my dear lady, 
 revert to what you are pleased to call the inequality of 
 our station ? I will admit it only to be inequality of 
 fortune ; and I am so eccentric as to think this an in-
 
 A STORY OF WAYS AND MEANS. 275 
 
 equality which renders us peculiarly well suited to each 
 other. Dearly as I love Caroline, were I penniless it 
 would be a sorry subject to speak of our marriage 
 and were she rich, I should distrust the power of my 
 moderate income should feel there were something 
 wrong in our relative positions should despair of 
 ever knowing the exquisite sensation, the thought, that 
 even in the most worldly sense, and in reference to 
 mere material comforts, her future lot promises to be 
 brighter and easier than her past.' 
 
 Mrs. Hargrave pressed his hand, and said with emo- 
 tion, ' You are all that is good and generous.' 
 
 ' And what can be really a richer inheritance,' the 
 young man continued, 'than health, talent and beauty ? 
 If an artist be fit companion for our nobles, surely his 
 daughter may mate with a simple gentleman.' 
 
 4 A really great artist ! ' murmured Mrs. Hargrave, 
 as if half ashamed of the insinuation her words con- 
 veyed, and yet determined to speak the truth. 
 
 ' I am no connoisseur,' said Wilton, ' nor is this the 
 time to discuss Mr. Hargrave's talents. If,' he added 
 with a smile, ' I do not always award him the pinnacle 
 he assumes for himself, I cannot deny him very great 
 talents; and even by the vulgar and often false measure 
 of success he may be tried, since his Art has provided 
 honorable and comfortable sustenance for his family, 
 and has educated a daughter to be the paragon I think 
 her.' 
 
 ' Suppose he has not done this ? ' said Mrs. Har- 
 grave, looking down and playing with the fringe of her 
 apron. 
 
 ' How ! ' returned Wilton, ' then he has a private
 
 276 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 fortune, which for his sake, but for that alone, I rejoice 
 to learn.' 
 
 * Not so. Is it possible Miss Graham has never 
 hinted at a means of income not apparent to the world 
 in general ? ' 
 
 ' Now you mention it, she once hinted at some 
 secret, calling it a gold mine, and speaking in as 
 mysterious a manner as if she were setting me an 
 enigma to guess. Having no talent for that sort of 
 thing it passed from my mind, but now that you recall 
 the circumstance, I do recollect that she clearly in- 
 timated that it was something which resounded to your 
 honor, and that if when I discovered the fact I should 
 not think so, I should deserve to lose Caroline, whom 
 she would immediately endeavor to console, and pro- 
 vide with a worthier lover.' 
 
 * Noble-hearted woman ! ' 
 
 'Yes, noble-hearted, and right-minded is she,' re- 
 turned Wilton Bromley ; ' and of this I am sure, that 
 whatever she approved must have been noble and 
 right ; wise too and prudent, it is very likely, in that 
 lower sense of wisdom and prudence to which the 
 greatest wisdom is not of necessity allied ; for Miss 
 Graham's enthusiasm is always joined to the practical 
 genius of common sense. So, dear lady, either gratify 
 the curiosity you have piqued, or leave the riddle still 
 unsolved, if so it please you.' 
 
 ' My heart allows me no choice ; for a mean decep- 
 tion, carefully planned, seems to me but the ill-favored 
 twin of a bold falsehood. Not that there is pain in 
 telling you the truth; the trial was to tell my hus- 
 band.'
 
 A STORY OF WAYS AND MEANS. 277 
 
 1 A mystery to him, too wonder on wonder!' 
 * For a time even to him ; but listen, and I will sketch 
 the history of my married life in a few sentences. I 
 married early, with but a small fortune, besides the 
 riches of hope and youth. We loved each other, at 
 least my husband loved still loves me as well as 
 a vain man and an egotist is capable of loving. But 
 I saw not his faults then, and bitter bitter indeed 
 was the knowledge of them when it came. Taking 
 his dreams of fame and fortune for solid expecta- 
 tions, I saw my little property consumed without much 
 anxiety ; nor did I know for long how much it was 
 really diminished. 
 
 ' Suddenly the blow fell ; three years after our mar- 
 riage, and when Caroline was an infant in my arms, I 
 learned that we were penniless. I do not believe it 
 possible that they who have never known poverty can 
 be made to understand what the Struggle of Life really 
 is forgive me if I say this even to you;' and she 
 pressed Wilton Bromley's hand as she spoke, ' if they 
 could be taught this knowledge it would be, I think, 
 the most beneficial revelation the human race could 
 teceive. The cares which depress till they degrade, 
 the necessity of money-seeking, until the jaundiced 
 eye sees even earth's noblest things by its own false 
 medium ; the withering of the heart's best qualities for 
 want of the power of exercising them ; the writhing 
 under petty obligations, writhing because they are so 
 gracelessly conferred nine times out of ten ; the serf- 
 dom of the very soul whose thoughts even are not 
 free.'
 
 278 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 ' Believe me, I can realize all this,' said Wilton, with 
 much feeling. 
 
 ' You think you can, as a thousand other generous 
 natures have said and thought : but I tell you there is 
 a new sense comes to us with this sort of suffering, but 
 a sense that vibrates only to its own agony. The rich 
 may comprehend the condition of the helpless, abject 
 poor, the utterly destitute, but of the yet deeper trials 
 of the struggling they know but little more than can 
 a blind man know of sight, even by the most vivid 
 description, and with the strongest human sympathy.' 
 
 'This life of suffering was mine,' she continued, 1 
 when tears had relieved the bitterness of her recollec- 
 tions, ' for years, many years ; mine, I say, rather than 
 ours, for, wrapped in his own dreams, Mr. Hargrave 
 scarcely shared them. But amid all I had one joy, my 
 only child, my Caroline. It was my aim to keep her 
 heart uncorroded by worldly cares, and the bitterness 
 of poverty ; I did this, and in the very doing my own 
 soul escaped at intervals from its corruption. In one 
 respect my husband's abstraction and isolation worked 
 well. I took care that discourses about money, about 
 poverty, should not meet her ear. Until the age of 
 sixteen I educated her myself, for I was able, with the 
 help of books, to do this ; although when I attempted 
 to make my poor acquirements serviceable as a daily 
 teacher, I found younger and abler instructors very 
 naturally preferred. Perhaps my mother's love quick- 
 ened my abilities ; at all events thus it was. At sixteen 
 Caroline went to her first ball you remember the 
 night ? ' 
 
 ' How well ! Never has her image been entirely
 
 A STORY OF WAYS AND MEANS. 279 
 
 driven from my heart from that hour ; though for a 
 while absence and travel might have weakened the 
 impression. It was long before I recognised the real 
 nature of my feelings, but I now know that in that 
 girlish grace see, Mamma! it is beaming dowVi upon 
 us now ' and he pointed to the picture 'and almost 
 childish simplicity, I met my destiny. What a beau- 
 tiful portrait it is. Her father has caught just the 
 expression she wore ; too innocent of evil to be fright- 
 ened, too pure and graceful to be gauche, her natural 
 timidity had a fascination about it beyond all words to 
 describe. I remember comparing her to a white dove 
 whose wings had strayed among the peacocks of an 
 aviary ; and then her beautiful hair ! oh, I had no 
 comparison for that.' 
 
 ' You thought it beautifully dressed,' said Mrs. Har- 
 grave, with a tearful smile. 
 
 ' I don't know how it was dressed,' said Wilton, 
 adding with the most charming ignorance of the mys- 
 teries of the toilet, ' it did not seem arranged at all ; 
 the beauty of it was, it looked so natural as it always 
 does ! ' 
 
 ' You know I always dress Caroline's hair? ' 
 
 ' Yes, I have heard her say so. What is to be done 
 when I take her away ? I must absolutely apprentice 
 a maid to you, to be instructed in the art.' 
 
 4 1 think you had better; the idea, I assure you, is 
 not in the least absurd. I would take her without a fee 
 
 that would be the only point not quite en regie.'' 
 
 1 Good Heavens ! what do you mean ? No, surely 
 
 a light is breaking on me ! ' 
 
 ' I mean the admiration excited on the occasion you
 
 280 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 mention first gave me the idea of turning my talent 
 for hair-dressing to profitable account. A talent origi- 
 nating in a mother's love and pride though perhaps 
 assisted by opportunities and accidents likely enough 
 to surround an artist's wife. The naturalness you 
 observed seems to be the secret of my success, and 
 the particular by which I am distinguished from the 
 herd of coiffeurs. A day or two after Caroline's first 
 ball, I called on Miss Graham, mentioned the idea 
 which had flashed upon my mind, received her instant 
 sympathy and approbation and more than this, her 
 introductions were the stepping-stones to my fortune.' 
 
 * Fortune ! ' 
 
 * Yes, fortune ; at least, in comparison with our former 
 poverty such it has been, to make twenty guineas a 
 week in the London season, besides receiving fees 
 from ladies' maids and others merely to be allowed to 
 look on, while 1 operated. And out of the season, I am 
 perpetually being sent for into the country, and well 
 paid for my time and trouble. These are the " ways 
 and means " which have paid my husband's debts ; 
 have surrounded us with every needful comfort ; and 
 have given Caroline for two years the benefit of the 
 best masters in every branch of her education. Wilton 
 Bromley will not despise his wife's mother, for having 
 practised so very humble a branch of Art.' 
 
 ' He will love and honor her the more,' said Wilton, 
 pressing her in his arms, * that is, if further love and 
 reverence from him be possible. No wonder, with 
 such a mother, Caroline is peerless. But say, what did 
 you mean by its being "a trial, to tell your husband " 
 this history, which to me seems beautiful ? '
 
 A STORY OF WAYS AND MEANS. 281 
 
 * He has a different pride from yours.' 
 
 ' And now that the results are so fortunate and 
 evident ? ' asked Bromley. 
 
 'The subject is never mentioned between us he 
 acts as if the thing were not. But let me ring now, 
 and send for Caroline she has longed for days past 
 that I should tell you the Great Secret ! '
 
 OUR PHILOSOPHER'S DREAM. 
 
 RAIN rain rain ! North, south, east, west, not 
 a rent in the cloudy curtain that shut out the sunshine ; 
 not a strip of blue sky to let in even a ray of hope for 
 a change. The third day, too, of this wet and chilly 
 weather, and we, a party of Londoners, invited to 
 enjoy the country ! By courtesy it was called sum- 
 mer, because the month was August ; but pleasanter, 
 say I, is it to meet the clear bracing frost of January, 
 and even its pelting snow, than your chilly summer's 
 day, especially if there be a division in the household 
 about the propriety of kindling a fire in the general 
 sitting-room. Look, too, out of doors ; how the trees 
 are shivering and dripping in their rich foliage beneath 
 the melting sky ; how the flowers are bent down by 
 the heavy rain, and the young buds, instead of opening 
 in beauty and fragrance, trail, soiled and rotting, on 
 the earth ! Whither have the birds fled so silently ? 
 Not one is to be seen or heard. Flap, flap that is 
 the laburnum branch against the drawing-room window 
 for the wind is high, driving the rain as if in sheets 
 of water. That heavy branch ought to have been cut 
 or trained ; yet it made a pleasant shade in the sultry 
 weather last week !
 
 OUR PHILOSOPHER'S DREAM. 283 
 
 We were a party of nearly a dozen, and no doubt 
 each person considered him or herself as a reasonably 
 good-tempered and agreeable individual ; and certainly 
 there could be no difference of opinion about the many 
 admirable qualities, including agreeability and good 
 temper, of our kind host and hostess, and yet the 
 continued wet weather, to say the least of it, tried 
 everybody. In the first place, the house was one 
 taken by our host for a short period before commenc- 
 ing a tour, while repairs went on in his own commo- 
 dious residence ; and surely ' a furnished house ' is 
 a generic term, expressive of great discomfort. No 
 library was found among the furniture, or necessary 
 articles provided ; not a book was there in the house, 
 except a few stray volumes which had crept into the 
 ladies' packages, or secreted themselves in the gen- 
 tlemen's carpet-bags ; and these with the omnivorous 
 appetite produced by the weather, were, I believe, 
 mentally devoured before the end of the first pouring 
 day. Not a musical instrument in the rooms, save a 
 shrill five-octave piano, which, from its tottering legs 
 to its partial speechlessness, betrayed all the infirmities 
 of age ; an accordion, which somebody had brought, 
 but nobody could play (otherwise than asthmatically) ; 
 and a flute, on which a young gentleman thought he 
 could discourse eloquent music, and with which he had 
 provided himself, possibly with the hope of charming 
 some of the neighboring dryads and naiads during a 
 projected boating and picnic excursion. But as we 
 had ' too much of water' around us, to admit of our 
 floating gaily upon it, our flute-player was obliged to 
 content himself with mere mortal listeners, for whose
 
 284 
 
 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 solace he rung the changes on ' Isle of Beauty,' 
 * A Bumper of Burgundy,' and ' Rousseau's Dream,' 
 kindly volunteering, in the desperation of our ennui, 
 ' a few bars ' from pieces which ' he could not per- 
 fectly recollect without the notes.' Honor be to his 
 good-nature, if not to his flute-playing! the first 
 professor could only have done his best for our amuse- 
 ment. 
 
 In the desperation of our circumstances, some of 
 us took to letter-writing ; but our epistles were such 
 lugubrious affairs, breathing little else than discontent, 
 that they were worthier the flames than the care of 
 the general post-master. Not having exhausted our 
 complaints by writing them, we began talking of our 
 grievances, and grew, as people always do in such 
 discourse, wonderfully confidential. It would seem 
 that we had all suffered more or less from ' the stings 
 and arrows of outrageous fortune,' or from ' the spurns 
 that patient merit of the unworthy takes ; ' verily, we 
 must have been an unfortunate or an ill-used set. All 
 but Uncle Robert our hostess's and everybody's 
 Uncle Robert, otherwise called Our Philosopher 
 who, though not a great talker, was still less of a 
 grumbler; and did often enliven us with a pleasant 
 anecdote or shrewd remark, very much to the purpose 
 of whatever our discourse might be. Yet he who was 
 no grumbler was the oldest of our party, and one 
 whose life had, truth to tell, been deeply shadowed. 
 He had lost a princely fortune by the wrong-headed- 
 ness of a speculating partner ; death had deprived him 
 of a beloved wife ; and worldly prudence had driven 
 from his side three noble-hearted sons, the only sur-
 
 OUR PHILOSOPHER'S DREAM. 285 
 
 vivors of a large family. ' Perhaps,' asks some one, 
 ' this Uncle Robert had lukewarm feelings, and did not 
 really suffer from these severe trials ? ' Nay, if you 
 had marked his quivering lip aud glistening eye when 
 news came from the pestilential shores of Africa, or 
 a gazette from the burning East, or a letter from un- 
 settled and unpoised Australia, you would not have 
 doubted the warmth of his parental love, nor the 
 acuteness of his feelings. 
 
 He was sitting, book in hand ; but though his eyes 
 were bent down, their adjunct, a pair of spectacles, 
 was thrown up, resting upon his broad forehead, in- 
 stead of upon that feature which, in the old fable, was 
 so consequential about claiming the right to the same. 
 
 ' What are you reading, Uncle Robert ? ' said our 
 hostess with a smile. 
 
 ' I am not reading, my dear niece,' he replied ; ' I 
 have been dreaming all the morning.' 
 
 ' Dreaming ! Why, you have not been asleep 
 surely, and we chattering all the time ? ' she con- 
 tinued, taking the book from his hand in a playful 
 manner. 
 
 ' Indeed I have not. But do you suppose it is only 
 the young who are allowed to have waking dreams ? 
 We old people fashion them, no doubt, in a very dif- 
 ferent manner. There is nothing Arcadian or Utopian 
 about them, I grant ; they are made up of the recol- 
 lection of facts rather than of the pencillings of fancy, 
 and yet perhaps they are almost as airy as the beautiful 
 * baseless fabrics ' the young so delight to build. Shall 
 I tell my morning's dream for the edification of you 
 discontented mortals? '
 
 286 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 * Oh do, pray do,' was echoed through the circle ; 
 and we drew round to form an attentive audience. 
 
 ' I shall not stay to inquire,' began Our Philosopher, 
 ' if there be a young gentleman of our party who thinks 
 himself a remarkably unfortunate and ill-used person, 
 because his relations have thought proper to find for 
 him a government situation, with a regularly increasing 
 salary sufficient to supply every reasonable want, in- 
 stead of advancing for his use a certain amount of 
 capital, from the nucleus of which he is morally certain 
 he should have become a second Rothschild.' 
 
 Here our flute-player looked up with a flushed 
 cheek, for the cap fitted Aim, indeed more tightly 
 than was pleasant ; but he had the good feeling to 
 know that youth cannot be offended by the kindly 
 rebuke of age, and he caught Uncle Robert's eye with 
 a good-humored smile, as our monitor continued. 
 
 ' Nor is this all. He entertains an extraordinary 
 delusion that he has an especial talent for money- 
 making, whereas he has only elegant tastes which 
 would direct the money-spending. He has a decided 
 contempt for money itself, apart from its noble pur- 
 poses of benevolence, and encouragement to industry 
 of head and hand ; and for this I am one to honor 
 him. But I shrewdly suspect your thorough money- 
 maker is too often made of different stuff, and feels 
 some idolatry towards the yellow god itself. Remem- 
 ber I say too often, not always ; for some of our 
 merchant princes spend their revenues in a truly noble 
 manner. The delusion of our discontented one is, 
 moreover, very curious. He scorns the patient labor 
 and unremitting toil, and all the very arts which yet
 
 OUR PHILOSOPHER'S DREAM. 287 
 
 he thinks Tie should so successfully practise ; and there 
 are about half-a-dozen individuals in the metropolis 
 whom he only knows by name, who are yet the objects 
 of his supreme envy. Now, in my waking dream, I 
 thought that the mind of one of these persons and 
 his own were revealed to each other, and held a 
 sort of spiritual communion a spiritual communion, 
 although a bodily meeting, as if they were under a 
 bond to exchange the deepest secrets of their hearts. 
 This meeting, by the way, was in a dark, dingy, dusty 
 counting-house, instead of at the superb villa at which 
 the discontented one had pictured the wealthy mer- 
 chant enjoying every appurtenance to refined intel- 
 lectual enjoyment and bodily comfort. The visitor 
 seated himself on a hard, tall, uneasy leathern stool, 
 while the merchant spoke to him from his accustomed 
 niche, where he sat before a high desk, which was 
 separated from the rest of the apartment by a light 
 railing. He leaned his elbow on a closed cheque-book, 
 and looked at the youth with a grave, nay, a sad ex- 
 pression of countenance. 
 
 * You are thinking,' said the Spirit of the merchant, 
 ' that the height of human bliss would be to have the 
 power of converting these leaves of paper, by a few 
 strokes of the pen, to the value of thousands of pounds ; 
 you are dreaming of doubling and tripling them by 
 successful speculations.' 
 
 ' And also,' said the Spirit of the youth involun- 
 tarily, 'of spending some of the money on a visit to 
 Italy a pilgrimage to the Eternal City. Oh,' he 
 continued with a sigh, ' in my unhappy condition, I 
 cannot hope, for years to come, to spare either money
 
 288 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 or time for this realization of my youth's fondest 
 wish.' 
 
 4 1 know all the thoughts of your mind,' pursued the 
 Spirit of the merchant ; * and though I am dead to all 
 such aspirations, I remember them well enough to envy 
 you your fresh unbroken spirits, your calm unfevered 
 life, and regular hours of relaxation.' 
 
 * But you have wealth,' returned-the youth ; ' why 
 not retire from the turmoil which I now perceive has 
 rendered your hair grey before its time, has wrinkled 
 your brow prematurely, and withered up the spiritual 
 aspirations which, twenty years ago, resembled my 
 own ? ' 
 
 ' Examine my heart more narrowly,' said the mer- 
 chant's Spirit in rather an angry tone, ' and you will 
 cease to talk so like a fool. Don't you perceive I am 
 one of the so-called rich, whose wealth is credit ? If 
 I cease for a day to plan and bargain, the machinery 
 stops, and all is lost. I can scrawl here five figures in 
 a row, and the draft will be honored. What then ? I 
 can only, as it were, pass the money from one pocket 
 to another embark it in some other speculation. For 
 my family's use, or my own private pleasure, it is often 
 excessively inconvenient to write one and two ciphers 
 after it.' 
 
 *I perceive, however,' continued the youth, 'that 
 you have a wife and family the objects with me of 
 a romantic ambition ; indeed I think you married when 
 little older than I am now.' 
 
 ' Take off another layer of appearances,' answered 
 the merchant's Spirit, ' and you will discover that I 
 married an extravagant woman, solely for the small
 
 OUR PHILOSOPHER'S DREAM. 289 
 
 fortune she possessed, with which I began the world. 
 In our frequent quarrels, she always tauntingly reminds 
 me that everything is hers ; and really my splendid 
 mansion is so associated in my mind with discomfort 
 and contention, that I feel far more at home on 
 " Change," or in this dingy counting-house, than any- 
 where else. I bear with your folly,' continued the 
 merchant, ' because you remind me of a dear son, 
 for whom I am struggling and striving to carve out a 
 happier fate than my own has been.' 
 
 ' But,' said the Spirit of the youth, ' it is not because 
 you have secret cares that the wealth of every mer- 
 chant is but credit, and that every one of them has an 
 unloving wife.' 
 
 ' Certainly not ; and though I feel a degree of envy 
 for such as you, with youth, health, and, in human 
 .probability, a calm life before them, with sufficient 
 leisure and freedom from heavy care, with the privi- 
 lege of choosing a partner for life, I have often 
 caught myself envying my seemingly more fortunate 
 companions in business. Yet who knows, if our spirits 
 could hold this intimate communion with theirs, we 
 might discover they, too, had sorrows.' 
 
 There was a pause. ' Ah,' said the merchant at 
 last, ' I see you are growing more contented with your 
 lot ; and as this makes me envy you more, I had 
 rather not examine your mind any further ; especially 
 as it is very necessary I should seem unruffled, alike 
 to hide satisfaction at my gains, and chagrin at my 
 losses.' 'And thus,' said Uncle Robert, speaking in 
 his own person, ' the first scene of my waking dream 
 19
 
 290 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 melted away gradually discovering shall I tell il 
 you ? a second.' 
 
 ' Oh yes,' was echoed by all, though perhaps we 
 each trembled with the thought of being the next 
 exemplar. 
 
 4 In the second scene of my waking dream,' con- 
 tinued Uncle Robert, looking, as he spoke, at the 
 youngest of our party, ' I beheld a bright-eyed girl, of 
 about, I suppose, seventeen, without a real trouble or 
 sorrow in the world unless, indeed, the loss of her 
 mother, when she was an infant, may still be called 
 so who fancied herself cruelly used, because her 
 stepmother still exercised parental authority over her ; 
 apportioning the occupation of her time, directing her 
 reading, and even the choice of her companions. She 
 fancies she could have submitted to even a harsher 
 government from her own mother, but feels sure she 
 would not have exercised her power half so tyranni- 
 cally. Her regret for her parent, and affection for this 
 ideal of a mother, we all can understand and admire ; 
 but just now the especial objects of her envy are a 
 family of giddy girls, who, like herself, are mother- 
 less, but who, unlike her, have escaped from control, 
 salutary or not. It is true that she does not -think, if 
 she had equal liberty, she should abuse it by idling 
 her time in the manner she confesses they do ; but she 
 longs for the liberty, nevertheless, if only to prove her 
 wisdom. Now, in my dream, the Spirit of this young 
 girl, was wafted away from the well-ordered home, 
 which she sometimes calls a prison ; away from the 
 neat chamber, well stocked with books, which she calls 
 her own ; away from her birds and flowers to a
 
 OUR PHILOSOPHER'S DREAM. 291 
 
 poverty-stricken dwelling in the heart of a great citj r . 
 The poverty was of that sort which is the most painful 
 to witness, not the humble, almost contented, poverty 
 which strives to limit wants and wishes to the means^ 
 but the poverty which is proud, and ashamed of itself. 
 
 'A haggard woman, really about five-and-twerrty, but 
 looking middle-aged, was there ; and two sickly chil- 
 dren, one in her arms, one clinging to her dress. 
 Thus spoke the Spirit of the woman to the young girl 
 for, in my dream, they were able to read each 
 other's hearts. 
 
 " You envy those whose days are passing away, 
 to my mind, like an early scene, from the drama of 
 my own life. I, too, was motherless from an infant, 
 but my father gave me no stepdame ; he consoled him- 
 self in a very different fashion was seldom in his 
 house made no home of it. I was left to servants 
 and hireling teachers, all chosen carelessly. I was my 
 own mistress, indeed, and steered my course to a 
 whirlpool. Ignorance, Vanity, and Self-will, were my 
 pilots, without a warning voice to tell me of a beacon. 
 My father was reputed rich, and I had many suitors ; 
 but I, who had never been controlled, and so had never 
 learned to control myself, would not be guided in my 
 choice, would not give up my will. I was just your 
 age when I eloped with one, worthy perhaps of me, 
 but quite unworthy any nobler specimen of woman- 
 hood. I never believed my father would withhold his 
 pardon and a provision ; but when we discovered my 
 mistake, my wretchedness began. My expected for- 
 tune had been the lure ; 1 was soon treated with con- 
 tempt, and, by degrees, with all the harshness and
 
 292 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 cruelty that a brutal nature is capable of inflicting on 
 the helpless. My husband's bad character excludes 
 me from worthier associates than his companions ; my 
 father's doors are shut against me ; gnawing poverty 
 and mutual hatred rule our wretched household. I am 
 still young, but I have only hope in the grave. Read 
 my heart more closely ; it is more fit for you to read 
 now than it was in my girlhood." I thought,' con- 
 tinued Uncle Robert, ' that there was a long pause, and 
 that the two looked into each other's faces. At last 
 the woman spoke again. 
 
 "I can read," said she, ''your past clearly, and can 
 look into your probable future. I can see how, in your 
 childish illnesses, the stepmother watched by your bed- 
 side, and pillowed your feverish head upon her bosom; 
 how, in those days, you loved her very dearly, and 
 knowing no difference, called her ' mother.' I can 
 see, too, how she loved you almost as much, and 
 tended you quite as carefully as in later days she has 
 loved and tended her own child. I can see, too, how the 
 self-willed, self-governing cousins, whom you so much 
 envy, first corrupted your mind against her; and never 
 did she more truly prove that she was good, and wise, 
 and kind, than by striving to keep you apart. 1 can see 
 in the future that she will guide your half-sister just as 
 she has striven to guide you. 1 see, too, in those com- 
 ing days, that you will have a happy home of your 
 own, in the governing of which you will often seek her 
 advice ; for by that time you will understand her excel- 
 lence, and thank her for her care ; a care which 
 almost precludes the possibility of your choosing an 
 unworthy husband, since high character is the only 
 
 V
 
 OUR PHILOSOPHER'S DREAM. 293 
 
 passport to your acquaintance. Oh," sighed the Spirit, 
 " how I envy your lot ! How delicious does your flower- 
 strewn path appear ? How sweet the security of your 
 present bondage to my wrung repentant heart ! " 
 
 The monitor paused, and the fair girl to whom he 
 had rather particularly addressed himself, rose with 
 tearful eyes, and passing her arm round Uncle Rob- 
 ert's neck he was her uncle pressed a kiss upon 
 his forehead, and whispered, ere she left the room, ' I 
 go to ask her forgiveness of all my petulance ; I will 
 write to her again I will call her mother. She will 
 forgive as she has forgiven, and she shall feel that I 
 am changed am humbled am grateful. And you, 
 Uncle Robert, you shall think better of me. Nay, I 
 must go,' and she hastened away to hide her emo- 
 tion. 
 
 The tears of the pretty little maiden had thrown a 
 gloom upon the party, and even Our Philosopher him- 
 self seemed somewhat affected. 
 
 ' I know,' said a gentleman of the party, twisting 
 some closely written paper into all imaginable shapes, 
 and offering himself in a good-humored manner for 
 the amusement (and instruction?) of the company 
 4 1 know there must have been a third scene to your 
 dream, for I was the grumbler-in-chief this morning. 
 Do tell me, dear Uncle Robert, most sage philosopher, 
 to what Spirit you introduced mine ? ' 
 
 ' To the Spirit of the author,' returned our monitor, 
 smiling again, ' whose fame you, one of the dilettanti 
 of literature, and a man of fortune, do, beyond all things, 
 covet. The ode you have written to him really deserves
 
 294 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 better treatment than it is receiving at your hands ; for 
 though it speaks only of the laurel wreath, without 
 one allusion to the poison which may be distilled there- 
 from, it is a very respectable production, and would be a 
 graceful accompaniment to the pecuniary present you 
 are wishing to offer him. You know he is poor, but, 
 like many of the rich, have a very vague idea of his 
 sort of poverty a poverty very different from that of 
 the woman which I described, for his fame really 
 shines the brighter that he is still poor ; that he has 
 resisted every temptation to sell his splendid talents for 
 party purposes. Yet, surrounded by the beloved ones 
 who look up to him for bread bread to be earned by 
 the sweat of the brain think how hard it must have 
 been always to have said "No." On the one hand ease 
 and abundance, on the other toil and privation. It is 
 only lately this fame you so covet has been acknowl- 
 edged ; think of the long struggling years of obscurity 
 through which he waded ; the enmity of those he would 
 not serve ; the "hope deferred " and sickness of heart. 
 Could your proud spirit so alternately have bent and 
 battled ? would you have come as he has done, to the 
 glorious belief, that " The Wages of every noble Work 
 do yet lie in Heaven, or else Nowhere ? " Verily, he 
 may be envied, but would you live over his life, and so 
 pay the price of his happiness ? ' 
 
 4 Such fame ! What can the world bestow that is 
 comparable to it ? ' returned the author of the ode. 
 
 4 Think of your own fame,' interrupted a lively lady, 
 and counting as she spoke upon her fingers ; ' first, 
 you wrote a prize essay at Oxford, then you contrib- 
 uted poetry to one annual and to three county news-
 
 OTTR PHILOSOPHER'S DREAM. 295 
 
 papers ; and since then you must have enriched at 
 least a thousand albums with your effusions.' 
 
 ' To be rebuked at last for my ambition,' said our 
 author, taking the irony in good part; ' well, one thing, 
 at least, I will strive to be, the appreciator the 
 encourager of genius. Will this please you, rny dear 
 philosopher? ' 
 
 'Your hand upon the promise. And take an old 
 man's word for it, you will be the thing more useful 
 than the man of genius himself: for one appreciator 
 can encourage and foster many of those who only want 
 a helping hand.' 
 
 And so ended Our Philosopher's Dream. And be- 
 hold, while it was telling, the weather had cleared, the 
 rain was over, or, as I heard a little girl say, ' it was 
 used up.' Whether it was the result of the dream or 
 the sunshine, I cannot tell, but certainly all our dis- 
 content was over. A walk in the grounds we must 
 have, thick shoes provided. How sweet the carnations 
 smelt after the rain ! Even we were in good humor 
 with the snails, who crawled no, galloped as they 
 always do on such occasions across our path, though 
 we knew them to be on the high road to assert their 
 prior claim to the peaches and nectarines. Did not 
 this alone prove the general contentedness of heart and 
 toleration of spirit induced by Uncle Robert's dream 
 and the sunshine ?
 
 THE NEGLECTED CHILD. 
 
 * SEE what beautiful flowers Mrs. Woodley has given 
 us !' exclaimed, almost at the same moment, Augusta 
 and Caroline Shelton, as they entered their mother's 
 drawing-room after a morning's walk ; ' but we wish 
 to give them to you, mamma, if you will accept them,' 
 continued the children in set phrase, and with an air of 
 affectation that would have been aaything but pleasing 
 to a more discreet mother. 
 
 * My darlings,' replied Mrs. Shelton, rising languidly 
 from the sofa, and drawing the children towards her; 
 ' my sweet girls never forget dear mamma, do they ? 
 And what did Mrs. Woodley say to you, my dears ?' 
 
 'She did not say much,'' returned Augusta, a prim 
 womanly miss of fourteen years old, and the eldest of 
 the family ; * but she told us to gather some flowers if 
 we liked, and asked us to have a ride on the pony ; 
 but of course we did not mount, because we thought 
 it might crease these clean frocks, and that would 
 have displeased you. Margaret, however, rode him 
 round and round the paddock.' 
 
 * Of course ; she has no thought.' 
 
 * But Margaret had not a clean frock on, mamma,'
 
 THE NEGLECTED CHILD. 297 
 
 said Caroline, who was a degree more childlike than 
 the other, and sometimes, though not often, put in a 
 kind word for her neglected sister. 
 
 ' Never mind, my love ; you and Augusta shall go 
 out with me this afternoon ; that will be much better 
 than pony-riding.' 
 
 At this moment a loud sobbing was heard at the 
 door, and the next instant Margaret Shelton, the young- 
 est daughter, entered the room, accompanied by her 
 constant companion, Rover, a large spaniel, whose 
 collar was now ornamented with fresh flowers, very 
 similar to those the favored children had just presented 
 to their mother. Margaret was about eleven years 
 old ; and though her complexion was less delicate, and 
 her features less regular, than those of her sisters, 
 intelligence beamed brightly and surely from her dark 
 eyes; and feeling, sentiment, and suffering had already 
 imprinted their characters on her countenance. 
 
 'What is the matter now crying again?' said 
 Mrs. Shelton in no very gentle tone. 
 
 ' Morris, Nurse Morris is so very ill,' sobbed the 
 poor child. 
 
 ' And will your crying make her better ?' 
 
 ' Oh, mamma, do send for a doctor,' said Margaret, 
 endeavoring to stifle her tears ; for she felt instinctively 
 that a storm was gathering, and that she should be re- 
 proached as the cause of innumerable calamities, if her 
 grief disturbed the delicate ' nerves,' or rather temper, 
 of her capricious parent. 
 
 Mr. Simmonds is too busy to come before to-morrow ; 
 and why cannot you call people by their names, in- 
 stead of using that vulgar phrase, ' send for a doctor?'
 
 298 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 But I suppose they are Morris's own words ; you pick 
 up everything from the servants.' 
 
 The rebuked child stooped down to fondle the dog, 
 and hide the tears which she had failed to drive back, 
 while her sisters exchanged glances that seemed to 
 say, ' She does not bring mamma a nosegay.' 
 
 Mrs. Shelton read the glance, and had-before ob- 
 served the flowers which, loosely twined round the 
 dog's collar, were now dropping about the floor. 
 
 ' Come, clear away this litter,' she exclaimed, ad- 
 dressing Margaret; 'you and Rover and Morris are 
 only fit company for each other, I think. Your sisters, 
 indeed, thought of their mother first, and preferred 
 bringing her their flowers to dressing up a dog with 
 them.' 
 
 Another rush of tears from poor Margaret was the 
 rejoinder, as she sobbed out 'Last last time 
 mamma you would not have my flow flowers.' 
 
 ' I cannot bear this noise; go away,' said Mrs. Shel- 
 ton, with a wave of her hand ; and Margaret, picking 
 up the flowers which she ventured to leave on the 
 table, hastened to obey. The dog followed her, and 
 in a few minutes the ' neglected child' was sitting upon 
 the old nurse's bed, where Rover had mounted also, as 
 if for the purpose of licking the hand of his weeping 
 mistress, and offering her his mute consolations. 
 
 Mrs. Shelton was considered in society ' fascinating,' 
 and a ' beauty ; ' but, in truth, she was vain, selfish, 
 and capricious. Her husband was a shrewd worldly- 
 minded man, with a much smaller proportion of the 
 ballast of principle than needs belong even to such a 
 character. A pair of this kind were not likely to
 
 THE NEGLECTED CHILD. 299 
 
 regulate their household very admirably ; and the 
 advent of poor little Margaret had been most unpro- 
 pitious. In the first place, a boy had been ardently 
 desired, for whom doubtless had been reserved a share 
 of that sort of affection which capricious people can 
 only bestow, and which had been lavished already in 
 due proportion on the elder girls. But this formed no 
 inheritance for the unwelcome little girl, on whom fell 
 the additional calamity of receiving a baptismal name 
 unpleasing to the ears of an influential elder of the 
 family, who, with a consistency, it would seem, in- 
 herent in the race, took a dislike to the poor infant 
 forthwith, and was heard to declare that no one of that 
 name (he had been jilted by a Margaret in his youth) 
 should ever touch a farthing of his money. Brothers, 
 however, in due time appeared, and they finally jostled 
 poor Margaret from any slight hold she might have 
 had on the parental tenderness. From babyhood she 
 had been as it were a shuttlecock in the house, tossed 
 to and fro by every gale of temper ; blamed, scolded, 
 punished often ; but caressed and petted seldom, or 
 never, except by her constant friend Nurse Morris, to 
 whose affection, ill-directed though it might sometimes 
 be, she was indebted for almost every word or act of 
 kindness she could remember. 
 
 The illness of old Nurse Morris became more and 
 more alarming; and when the busy Mr. Simmonds found 
 time to pay her a visit, he looked grave, and ordered 
 those prompt remedies which startle even the thought- 
 less and indifferent into the consciousness that death 
 must be -hovering near. Margaret was sitting on the
 
 300 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 stairs watching Mr. Simmonds's departure on the occa- 
 sion of his second or third visit to poor Morris. 
 
 ' Sir Mr. Simmonds,' she exclaimed, as she crept 
 after him into the hall, resolutely checking her tears, 
 because she had been so often told not to cry when 
 she was speaking to any one 'do tell me, Sir, if 
 nurse is going to die.' 
 
 ' Little girls should not ask such questions,' replied 
 the doctor, scarcely looking at the child, and since she 
 had so effectually concealed her feelings, not at all 
 aware of the anguish of her young heart. 
 
 The language of contempt was nothing new to her, 
 and yet a flash of something like anger and scorn might 
 have been detected from those dark eyes, had there 
 been any one near to read such a sign, as she turned 
 away once more to plant herself beside the old ser- 
 vant's bed. In a few minutes, however, she was 
 summoned to ' lessons,' which, to the astonishment of 
 the governess, were so accurately prepared, that she 
 made some remarks on the .subject. 
 
 ' You told me,' replied the child, trembling with fear, 
 lest she should be deprived of the promised reward, 
 that if there were no mistake, I might stay all day with 
 Morris.' What a pity, that when Margaret Shelton 
 was called idle, obstinate, and self-willed, her parents 
 and, copying them, her teachers never thought of 
 the sweet and simple plan of ruling her through her 
 affections ! 
 
 ' I know I shall not live many days,' said the old 
 nurse, when it happened that she was alone with Mar- 
 garet ; ' and there is much, my poor pet, that I want 
 to say to you. Now, don't cry, but listen,' she" con-
 
 THE NEGLECTED CHILD. 301 
 
 tinued. ' I made my will long ago, and I have left 
 you near upon five hundred pounds that is in the bank, 
 part of it prize-money my poor old husband got in the 
 war-time, and partly my own savings. Now, remem- 
 ber it is to be yours either when you are of age, or 
 when you marry, whichever happens first ; and though 
 you are young to talk of such things, remember old 
 nurse's words; get a good husband as soon as you can, 
 for it's my belief you'll never have a bit of peace or 
 comfort at home.' 
 
 'Oh, nurse, nurse!' interrupted the poor girl, 'if 
 you die, what will become of me ? Nobody loves me 
 but you nobody ever did love me but you.' And 
 she threw 'her arms wildly round the old woman's 
 neck. 
 
 ' I know that,' returned Morris, who, though an 
 affectionate creature, it will be perceived had little or 
 no governing principle. ' I know that, and I have only 
 stayed in the house all these years for your sake. 
 They don't love you, and that's the fact ; but never 
 mind : don't you care about them. / think you're just 
 as pretty as your petted sisters, and I dare say some 
 day some one else will think so too. And now you 
 must remember they cannot keep the money away 
 from you ; and you're to have my gold watch ; here it 
 is you know it it goes capitally, though it is large 
 and old-fashioned, and not like such as ladies wear; 
 but you'll keep it for old nurse's sake, wont you ?' 
 
 ' That I will,' sobbed Margaret, ' and never part with 
 it.' 
 
 'And here,' continued Morris, drawing an old pocket 
 from under her pillow, * is a matter of twenty pounds
 
 302 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 in notes, gold, and silver ; they may bury me,' she 
 whispered as in a sort of parenthesis, ' out of the 
 wages that are due ; so take it now, and hide it ; you'll 
 find a use for money at odd times, I warrant.' A 
 violent fit of coughing put a stop to the sick woman's 
 words, and perhaps prevented more counsel, which, 
 however well-intentioned, had so much that was per- 
 nicious in it. Alas ! why had Mr. and Mrs. Shelton, 
 by their harshness and apathy, thrown their warm- 
 hearted child entirely upon this one affection. 
 
 The old servant's prediction was verified. She did 
 not live many days, and her will was found to be 
 exactly as she had declared, with, however, the speci- 
 fication that the interest of the ' near upon ' five 
 hundred pounds was to accumulate until one of the 
 events to which she had alluded namely, Margaret's 
 marriage, or coming of age should take place. 
 Meanwhile the sorrow-stricken child unpractised in 
 deception, and no willing pupil in the art, even though 
 instructed in it by the dying lips of her beloved nurse, 
 felt oppressed by the weight of her secret the hoard 
 contained in the old pocket. She might have con- 
 cealed it easily, but her nature was too ingenuous long 
 to do so. 
 
 It was well known that Nurse Morris was worth 
 money, and it is very likely that rumor had exagge- 
 rated the amount. It is likely, too, that Mr. and Mrs. 
 Shelton were not blind to the probability of her leav- 
 ing her savings among the children she had helped to 
 rear ; for she had often declared that she had not a 
 relation in the world. But they were quite startled to 
 find their least loved Margaret the old servant's sole
 
 THE NEGLECTED CHILD. 303 
 
 heiress. Alas ! the fact was treated as a new offence, 
 and a new phase of suffering was shown to her; for 
 certainly she never before could have been an object of 
 envy to her elder sisters. I believe, however, that the 
 present possession of the large old-fashioned gold watch 
 was, and not unnaturally, a something more coveted 
 than Margaret's future expectations. Certainly a watch 
 is the gift most longed for, both by boy and girl, even 
 though a timepiece may mark the hours in every 
 chamber of their dwelling ; and often is it the last 
 possession that poverty wrings from man or woman. 
 Margaret, thus endowed, took a sort of childish pre- 
 cedence over the spoiled and selfish pair, which they 
 could ill endure ; while on her part she was so unused 
 to have any advantage over them, that she was quite 
 unconscious of the feelings her legacy had engendered; 
 besides her poor little heart as yet was wrung with grief 
 for the loss of her much-loved nurse. 
 
 It was the day after the old servant's funeral when 
 Margaret crept softly into the drawing-room. ' Mamma, 
 may I come in ? ' she asked as she entered. 
 
 ' Yes, if you will be as quiet as your sisters are.' 
 
 This was not very warm encouragement ; but, accus- 
 tomed as the poor child was to rebuke, it was anything 
 but a repulse. 
 
 ' Mamma, I have a secret to tell you,' she continued, 
 her voice trembling from many causes ; * will you take 
 care of some money for me some money poor Mor- 
 ris gave me just before she died, though she told me to 
 keep it for myself? But it would be wrong not to tell 
 you, I know.' 
 
 'Give it me this instant! ' replied Mrs. Shelton, her
 
 304 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 ire rapidly kindling ; ' why, you naughty girl, you 
 deceitful little creature, what do you think you deserve 
 for all this slyness ? Good gracious me ! nineteen 
 pounds odd shillings ; you wicked little creature, to 
 hide all this money for a week ! ' And by the time 
 her harangue had proceeded thus far, the lady's pas- 
 sion had so risen, that she seized poor Margaret by the 
 shoulder, shook her for a minute, and as her combat- 
 iveness reached its climax, gave her a box on the ear 
 which almost threw her down. 
 
 'It was wrong, mamma,' sobbed the poor child ; ' but 
 
 oh, pray do forgive me ! It was nurse ' But 
 
 here she checked her words ; for she felt it would be 
 easier to bear reproaches directed against herself than 
 reproof of the dead. It was too late, however ; for 
 Mrs. Shelton, quick at surmises, had already divined 
 the truth. 
 
 4 An old good-for-nothing creature,' exclaimed Mrs. 
 Shelton : ' it was she, I suppose, who told you to hide 
 the money, and taught you all sorts of deceit. You 
 are much too young to have any money at all ; I shall 
 not give you a farthing of it. And to punish you for 
 such naughtiness, I shall take away the watch till you 
 know how to behave yourself.' 
 
 Margaret's anguish would have melted any softer 
 heart than that of a silly, ill-tempered woman ; for silli- 
 ness, for want of the power of thought and sympathy, 
 is usually unfeeling. But the sort of anguish that 
 proceeds from the blight of a young nature, from the 
 misapprehension of its motives, and the utter want 
 of all appreciation of its best emotions, is very apt to 
 harden the character. Grief has a maturing hand;
 
 THE NEGLECTED CHILD. 305 
 
 the mind is instructed through the feelings much more 
 than we commonly acknowledge ; and when, after a 
 week of silent suffering, the cherished watch was re- 
 stored to Margaret Shelton because, as she very well 
 knew, the possession of it no longer rendered her an 
 object of envy to her more favored sisters, ^ince they 
 had been presented with small fashionable watches, 
 purchased with the hoard of which, she had been de- 
 prived she was no longer the child whose heart was 
 all tendrils, and whose character was as wax to mould. 
 It was some little time after this, that, in examining 
 an old note-case, part of the contents of the pocket 
 which she had been permitted to keep, more carefully 
 than she had done sbefore, she discovered a sovereign 
 between its folds. No doubt it had been part of the 
 hoard which had slipped accidentally into its hiding- 
 place ; but this accession of wealth was a serious 
 trouble to poor Margaret. To keep it, or to take it to 
 her mother, she was equally afraid ; and to spend it, 
 she da ed not, since she, who had never any money of 
 her own, could not make purchases without exciting 
 suspicion. From the harshness and misapprehension 
 which had driven the neglected child to turn her 
 thoughts inwardly, and seek counsel only of herself, 
 she had at least acquired the power of deciding 
 quickly ; and the resolution she came to was, that 
 she would take an opportunity, when walking out, to 
 hang back from her companions, and give the sove- 
 reign to a certain poor woman, a crossing-sweeper, 
 whom they often encountered. She would thus, she 
 argued, have the satisfaction of feeling that it would 
 do some good, while she should escape all risk of that 
 20
 
 306 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 blame which would have fallen on her almost equally, 
 had she spent, acknowledged for her ignorance of 
 its possession would not have been believed or been 
 found out in hoarding the piece of gold. It was a 
 childlike plan ; for a more experienced person might 
 have foreseen that some eloquent demonstration of 
 gratitude from the poor sweeper, or other circumstance, 
 would probably betray the munificence of her gift. 
 And so it fell out ; for the poor woman, who was an 
 honest creature, knew the family by sight ; and believ- 
 ing the sovereign must have been given her by mistake, 
 and yet, as it was wrapped in paper, not having discov- 
 ered its value in time to run after the child, for she 
 was lame, she prudently and properly brought it to the 
 house:; and asking to see Mrs. Shelton, the whole affair 
 came to light, 
 
 The scene which followed was beyond description. 
 The old crossing-sweeper was rewarded for her hon- 
 esty with a few shillings, and dismissed ; but though, of 
 course, she knew little of the circumstances which had 
 led to Margaret's gift, she saw and heard enough to 
 make an indelible impression on her mind, and one 
 which, as we shall find in the' sequel, led to important 
 results. 
 
 ' Mamma, mamma, I should have given it to you,' 
 repeated the child over and over again; 'but 1 was 
 afraid you would have thought I had kept it on pur- 
 pose, and would have scolded and punished me. 
 Indeed, indeed, I am speaking truth.' 
 
 But Margaret was not believed. Nay, she was 
 suspected of having further hoards. Every likely 
 place was searched ; and many an opprobrious epithet
 
 THE NEGLECTED CHILD. 307 
 
 was hurled on the head of the defenceless child by the 
 irritated temper of a weak woman. This was a second 
 era in the life of Margaret Shelton, another ordeal 
 through which she passed, and by which her character 
 was moulded and hardened. And if I have dwelt 
 perhaps too long on these childish incidents, it is 
 because I have a firm belief that the virtue, happiness, 
 and moral advancement of the next generation depend 
 so wonderfully on the training of the present children, 
 that no child is too young, or in position too obscure, 
 to exercise in the future an influence for good or evil, 
 according to the impressions which are made on its 
 malleable nature. To treat a child with caprice, to rob 
 it of its own self-respect by doubting its word, (unless 
 under rare circumstances,) to deny it that sympathy 
 for which it silently asks, are those evil deeds of the 
 unthinking which bring about as grave and disastrous 
 results as any mistakes of active politicians. 
 
 From the time of her nurse's death, and its imme- 
 diate consequences, any observing person would have 
 marked a decided change in Margaret Shelton. She 
 was no longer a tearful child, apparently yearning for 
 affection, and thus meeting with constant rebuffs; nay, 
 she seldom demonstrated regard for anything except 
 the dog Rover, which was now growing old, and did 
 not live above a year or two. She acquired her al- 
 lotted lessons with that calm indifference which gave 
 no encouragement to teachers to take much trouble 
 with her, especially as they found a quicker reward 
 for their labor in adding to the showy accomplishments 
 of the elder sisters a mode of proceeding which 
 drew down money and praise. And thus time passed
 
 308 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 / . 
 
 on ; the best part of Margaret's education consisting in 
 the desultory sort of reading in which she contrived 
 to indulge ; and the age of sixteen found her grown, 
 by slow degrees, into something much more like the 
 waiting-maid of her elder sisters than their companion. 
 That she did not visit with them, was said to be on 
 account of her youth ; and the same reason was offered 
 for her simpler and less expensive dress. But two, 
 three years rolled away. She became much older 
 than they were when first ushered into society, yet 
 no change was there in her destiny. Meanwhile the 
 weak, unjust, and silly mother found no improvement 
 in her own temper proceed from disappointment ; for 
 she had educated her darlings solely with the view of 
 their 'getting well married;' and astonishment and 
 vexation at the continuance of their single blessedness 
 made no little commotion in her mind. Neither were 
 the dispositions of the two young ladies themselves 
 greatly improved by finding themselves less idolized 
 than they had been foolishly led to expect. And, as 
 if a crowning calamity were needed, Mr. Shelton had 
 losses in business, and the family were obliged to 
 retrench ! Poor Margaret ! she was the ready con- 
 ductor to carry off the storms of temper which arose 
 from every quarter of the domestic horizon ; nor must 
 the selfishness and indifference of her sisters be thought 
 more unnatural than her parents' neglect ; in fact, they 
 had come to consider her as in quite a different position 
 from their own. 
 
 It was the autumn of the year; and though, in 
 consideration of his reduced finances, Mr. Shelton 
 declined taking a house at Brighton, where for many
 
 THE NEGLECTED CHILD. 309 
 
 seasons his wife had insisted on spending a portion 
 of the year, he agreed to a less expensive sojourn at 
 one of the French seaports. Accordingly, early one 
 morning the family embarked. The weather was 
 wet, and the whole party had risen at an hour which 
 they called 'the middle of the night;' neither cir- 
 cumstance being one likely to render pleasant very 
 uncertain tempers. Poor Margaret ! she was in the 
 way when not wanted, and absent when called for ; in 
 short, she seemed to have done a hundred things she 
 should not have done ; and, thus blamed and scolded, 
 no wonder she felt glad, when at ten or eleven o'clock 
 the skies cleared and a brilliant sun shone forth 
 by which time the steamer was well out at sea to 
 find a quiet corner on the deck, far away from the 
 family. 
 
 She sat apparently musing, absorbed in the contem- 
 plation of sea and sky ; yet it is very likely that she 
 might have been observed by many of the passengers, 
 although she scarcely noticed them ; for though plainly, 
 almost childishly dressed for her age, there was a 
 natural grace in her figure, and though not strictly 
 handsome, she had a sweet and gentle expression of 
 countenance, which often pleased more than beauty. 
 Presently one of her young brothers came hurriedly 
 towards her 'Oh, here you are!' he exclaimed; 
 ' Mamma says she hopes the box that holds Augusta 
 and Caroline's new bonnets has not got wet, and she 
 says you had better look after it, for you know where 
 the luggage was put ; ' and having already struck up 
 an intimate acquaintance with the man at the helm, to
 
 310 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 whom he was extremely anxious to return, the boy ran 
 off without waiting for an answer. 
 
 Margaret was accustomed to obedience, and she in- 
 stantly rose to make the required investigation ; indeed 
 her seat had been very near the pile of luggage, and 
 she thought she could already discover from beneath 
 the tarpauling a corner of the important box safe and 
 dry. She was mistaken, however, though she knew it 
 must be near that spot, and fancied that if she could 
 push on one side, even to the distance of a few inches, 
 a heavy package which impeded her view, she should 
 ascertain the fact. At the instant of her attempting 
 this, a young man, whom she remembered had sat near 
 her for some time, stepped forward to assist her ; but, 
 alas ! though she quickly discovered her sisters' bonnet 
 box was safe, a heavy chest, disturbed by the movement, 
 fell upon her foot, bruising it very severely, and caus- 
 ing her the most exquisite pain. 
 
 A fine and sentimental young lady would certainly 
 have fainted, or shrieked, or in some other approved 
 manner have rendered herself conspicuous on be- 
 coming the object of such a catastrophe. Margaret, 
 however, was too well accustomed to self-reliance, and 
 to endurance had been so little in the habit of re- 
 ceiving sympathy that though the pain was excessive, 
 she endured it with the virtue of a martyr. The young 
 stranger near her, who soon gave his name as Arthur 
 Williams, was struck with the remarkable degree of 
 self-control which she evinced, and earnestly offering 
 his aid, the first link of a chain of sympathy was estab- 
 lished, which influenced the future life of both. 
 
 Arthur Williams was but three-and-twenty, yet he
 
 THE NEGLECTED CHILD. 311 
 
 looked nearer thirty ; and no physiognomist would have 
 hesitated to declare that he had thought and suffered 
 deeply. And yet there was a strange contradiction in 
 the expression of his handsome countenance, and a faint 
 shade of irresolution about the mouth, which was the 
 index to the fault of -his life a want of firmness to 
 withstand temptation ; so that too often he had known 
 the right, yet done the wrong. Brought up by a weak 
 and foolish mother, who had instilled neither religion 
 nor morals as principles in his mind, Arthur Williams 
 became his own master at sixteen. A small fortune 
 to which her death entitled him, was forestalled by his 
 youthful extravagances before it came legally to hand ; 
 and to reverse the old-fashioned story-tellers' plan 
 of shrouding every personage in a robe of mystery, 
 until the grand denouement acts as a harlequin's wand 
 to show each in his proper colors I will frankly own, 
 that when he encountered Margaret Shelton, he was 
 flying to the continent with an equally guilty com- 
 panion, to evade the consequences of embezzling the 
 money of their employers. He had assumed a name, 
 and by that only need he be known in this narrative. 
 He called his associate who was more hardened in 
 guilt than Williams, coarser-minded, and every way his 
 inferior Jackson. 
 
 * Why,' exclaimed this companion about an hour 
 after Margaret's accident, ' if it were a time for such 
 fancies, I should really think you had taken a down- 
 right liking to that girl what people call falling 
 in love. Now, it sfrikes me it might turn out a good 
 spec ; they seem dashing folks, though this pretty little 
 youngest is a dowdy. I have a great mind to pump
 
 312 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 the servants, and find out if there is any money. Why, 
 you know, a few hundreds would put all to rights; they 
 wouldn't prosecute if we could refund ; they 'd know 
 better than that. 
 
 ' Ay,' replied Williams, ' and life in the New World 
 afterwards with such a companion.' 
 
 * Well, try it,' returned the other, ' you know I have 
 got a wife already ; and, besides, I am no gentleman 
 she wouldn't have me.' 
 
 Jackson by feigning himself to be Arthur Williams's 
 servant, did find out a great deal concerning the Shel- 
 tons the truth, and something more than the truth, 
 about them. For the domestics, as is not unusual, had 
 no very clear sense of truth, and chose to increase 
 their own importance by adding to the worldly fortunes 
 of the family, and in particular giving an original 
 version to the story of Morris's legacy, which was 
 multiplied by four at least. 
 
 Arthur Williams was not a thorough villain. His 
 was a character even more painful to contemplate. 
 His associate, Jackson, could not comprehend that, in 
 seeking Margaret Shelton, he had any thought but that 
 of obtaining her property ; but it was not so ; for be- 
 fore many weeks had elapsed, he loved her with the 
 ardor and sincerity of deep affection. Then indeed 
 was it that the agony of remorse for his past misdeeds 
 and blighted character tortured him almost to mad- 
 ness. 
 
 But J must return for a moment to that eventful day 
 on the steamboat. The lameness consequent on Mar- 
 garet's accident proved a ready excuse for a thousand 
 attentions during the remainder of the voyage, while
 
 THE NEGLECTED CHILD. 313 
 
 the accident itself was the medium of a self-introduc- 
 tion on Arthur Williams's part to her family. As the 
 hours passed on, and the voyagers became more and 
 more weary, Margaret was more completely neglected 
 by her mother and sisters, more entirely thrown on the 
 stranger's care. And there was something so strange 
 in hearing any one speak kindly to her, or of being 
 the object of solicitude, that she perceived not the gulf 
 over which she was impending. 
 
 The acquaintance thus commenced, Arthur Williams 
 took care to improve ; and few circumstances offer 
 more facilities for this sort of chance intimacy than 
 the idle lounging of a watering-place. Yet the Shel- 
 tons, who had a great deal of purse-pride, and a sort 
 of vanity rather than any higher feeling, which disin- 
 clined them from associating with those of doubtful 
 reputation, were by no means satisfied with all they 
 saw of young Williams. But it was too late. Mar- 
 garet having been left uninstructed in the necessity 
 for exercising caution, in giving encouragement to a 
 stranger of whom little or nothing was known igno- 
 rant of the calamities which so frequently ensue from 
 misplaced confidence perhaps flattered, and at least 
 pleased, with the attentions bestowed upon her, had 
 already yielded up her affections. Not to delay the 
 history of this sad affair in two months from her 
 meeting with Arthur Williams, Margaret Shelton left 
 her home for ever, taking wjth^her only the clothes 
 she wore, and the ponderous watch, which was still 
 fondly cherished. 
 
 Before the marriage, Arthur Williams was aware of 
 the real amount of the old nurse's legacy ; but as I 
 21
 
 814 ENGLISH TALES A>'D SKETCHES. 
 
 have already said, though stained by crime, he had 
 still enough of humanity left to love her truly and 
 devotedly. Had she been penniless, he would have 
 been unselfish enough to refrain from asking her to 
 share his wretched fortunes ; but he now looked for- 
 ward to her few hundreds releasing him from the fate 
 which hung like a drawn sword over his head ; while 
 he hopefully and resolutely looked forward to support- 
 ing her humbly, but by honest industry, for the future. 
 Alas ! what has power to dim the future like the ever- 
 rising mists of past errors ! 
 
 Arthur's associate had deceived him in the amount 
 of their mutual liabilities, and seizing on the first sums 
 he could touch, the hardened villain made off with it, 
 and left Williams unable to refund the remainder. 
 Now the truth must have been revealed to Margaret, 
 though of how she bore the shock there is no chron- 
 icle. It is only known that she clung to her husband 
 through all trials, and that she humbled herself to 
 apply to her offended family for assistance an ap- 
 plication which met only a stern and brief refusal. 
 
 VVhat a year of agony that must have been which 
 followed the ill-omened marriage ! in wretched 
 poverty, and hiding from the officers of justice. Yet 
 amid all this misery a child was born the sole heir 
 of its unhappy parents 1 love ; for affection still reigned 
 in their hearts ; and these young creatures, whatever 
 their separate errors had been, were still true to each 
 other. The latter part of that year they were hidden 
 in London ; for Williams jiad been induced to return 
 to England by the sanguine representations of the 
 greater villain, Jackson.
 
 THE NEGLECTED CHILD. 315 
 
 Margaret's infant was about two months old when 
 the threatened blow fell ; when her husband's hiding- 
 place was discovered, and he was dragged from the 
 humble home, which yet by constant industry he had, 
 under his assumed name, contrived to provide, to 
 answer the charges of fraud and embezzlement which 
 were brought against him. Proofs were abundant ; 
 there was no chance of escape no mitigating cir- 
 cumstance thafc might tend to lighten his punishment 
 
 and a few weeks saw poor Margaret the wife of a 
 convicted felon her husband under sentence of trans- 
 portation for -life ! Bitterly, bitterly did she pay for 
 the one act of disobedience the wretched marriage 
 
 the more wretched because she truly loved and was 
 beloved. But oh, how much more dark the fault of 
 those whose cold neglect and cruel caprice had turned 
 back on her own heart 'the fountains of natural affec- 
 tion, which, when they found a channel, flowed with 
 irresistible force ! 
 
 Used as such persons are to heart-rending scenes, 
 the officers about the prison were touched at the deep 
 misery of Arthur Williams and his wife ; and it was 
 after the last permitted interview the fearful parting 
 
 that Margaret encountered an old woman, who 
 addressed her with some words of sympathy, and made 
 herself known as that some time crossing-sweeper, to 
 whom the unhappy child had given the sovereign she 
 dared not keep. In rags and poverty she still was, and 
 in deeper misery too ; for though passing honest her- 
 self, a wretched ignorant child, now grown to manhood, 
 had failed to withstand the temptations of want, and
 
 316 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 lay in a neighboring cell to that of Arthur Williams, 
 convicted of some petty theft. 
 
 Associated as she had been with guilt, yet Margaret 
 shuddered anew amid her anguish ; it seemed as if 
 another nerve were laid open to torture, to feel a new 
 humiliation. Yet the woman meant neither presump- 
 tion nor rudeness ; she had a grateful recollection of 
 Margaret's childish gift. Unregarded herseff, she had 
 watched her for years. She knew hei* in a moment, 
 and had contrived in some tell-tale manner, before 
 addressing her, to learn the cause of her great and 
 absorbing grief. 
 
 * Oh, ma'am,' whispered the woman, ' if you have 
 money enough to follow the ship a little while, I do 
 believe they would take you on board. I did hear of 
 a wife that so softened the captain's heart, that he 
 took her on board ; and though I've heard tell that she 
 never saw her husband till they arrived in foreign 
 parts, she had the comfort of knowing she was near 
 him. And when they did land, oh, they met then ; 
 and when by good behavior he had won some favor, 
 they lived comfortably enough, as I have heard tell.' 
 
 It was a wild tale, with probably but a slight foun- 
 dation of truth. Yet no wonder that the idea came 
 like a ray of hope and light to the despairing wife. 
 
 One more application to her family was made for a 
 trifling sum of money ; but the disgrace she had heaped 
 upon them was the reproach which alone she received 
 for answer. In truth, it did seem that, on the public 
 exposure consequent on Arthur Williams's trial, two 
 worldly suitors of her worldly sisters had each cleverly 
 contrived to evade his engagement, or rather the fulfil-
 
 THE NEGLECTKD CHILD. 317 
 
 ment of something that was implied as one, if not 
 positively so, rather than make such a ' disgraceful 
 connection.' Darkly and strangely, in blighting the 
 prospects of their best-loved children, worked the 
 instrument which their own faults had prepared where- 
 with to scourge them. 
 
 It was a dull and chill December day when a certain 
 convict-ship, freighted with guilt and misery, weighed 
 anchor. The wind was fair, the sails were spread, and 
 rapidly did it lessen to a speck on the horizon. Yet 
 for many a weary hour a small boat followed in its 
 track. It contained only two rowers, with a young 
 woman and her infant. It was Margaret and her child, 
 the sale of the long-preserved watch having afforded 
 her the means of casting all her earthly future on the 
 hazard of one chance. 
 
 But the day was waning, and the rough-mannered 
 yet kind-hearted rowers exchanged significant glances. 
 They felt the chase was hopeless, but they knew the 
 motive of the pursuit, and were willing to strain every 
 nerve to reach the vessel. Yet the thing was impossible, 
 and gradually the dreadful truth dawned on the mind 
 of the desolate being before them. Never have those 
 weather-beaten sailors forgotten her countenance. She 
 seemed stunned with despair ; they say that twice or 
 thrice a single tear rolled down her cheek, falling upon 
 her poor sickly baby's face ; but there was no violent 
 demonstration of her grief. They remembered, too, 
 that for a long time she looked fixedly at the infant, 
 while it, unconscious creature, faintly smiled, playing 
 with a band of its young mother's grey hair which had 
 escaped from its confinement. How the ocean had
 
 318 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 been linked with her latter destiny ! The meeting with 
 him who had ruled it; the dream of passing over its 
 friendly bosom to a friendly land which they had both 
 so often cherished ; and now, the horror of reality, the 
 blank of despair ! Did she think of all these things : 
 None can tell. But Margaret's nature was a fond and 
 affectionate one. By affection in childhood, she might 
 have been governed ; by misplaced affection in after- 
 years, her fate was sealed. Let charity believe that 
 reason sank beneath the stroke of anguish ' more great 
 than she could bear ! ' 
 
 Suddenly, too suddenly for prevention on the part of 
 her companions, poor Margaret, clasping still her infant 
 firmly in her arms, leaped from the boat, and in life 
 was seen no more. A large steamer, freighted with 
 many a joyous heart, at the moment, was near ; and 
 although this multiplied the attempts at a rescue, the 
 swell of the water caused by the paddles rendered it 
 more difficult. The bodies were not found for hours. 
 Besides the depositions of the two rowers, many from 
 the deck of that stately vessel witnessed the suicide : 
 there could be no misinterpretation of the fact. It 
 was another brief chronicle, a deep tragedy, added 
 to the many which crowd our newspapers, and of 
 which the happy and prosperous top rarely investigate 
 the causes. 
 
 THE END.

 
 m 
 
 
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